


65 Roses

by VeggiesforPresident (luridCavum)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Chronic Illness, Found Family, Gardens & Gardening, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luridCavum/pseuds/VeggiesforPresident
Summary: chron·ic /kränik/Adjective:(of an illness) persisting for a long time or constantly recurring.ter·mi·nal /ˈtərmənl/Adjective:(of a disease) predicted to lead to death, especially slowly; incurable.
Relationships: Castiel & Anna Milton, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle & Dean Winchester, background Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! This is a revamp of my old Supernatural HS AU, so if it feels familiar, that's why. This fic deals with chronic illness, growing up, and more Star Trek references than you can shake a phaser at. Enjoy!

Dean Winchester isn’t a morning person. He is a sleep-til-noon, 3-cups-of-black-coffee-when-he-wakes-up person. Of course, the universe is an uncaring bastard, so today like most days, he's up before the sun, yanking on a t-shirt and an old pair of jeans while someone calls his name.

“Be right there!” He calls back. It's not technically a crime to be up this early, but Dean thinks it oughta be.

“I made breakfast,” Sam says when Dean emerges. He rubs his eyes. Their house is always a touch too warm, and Sam cooking doesn't help, but it smells amazing, so Dean decides valiantly to not care. He grabs a paper plate.

“Damn, Sammy,” He says around a mouthful of crispy bacon, “What did I do to deserve this?”

“It's Sam,” Sam corrects, “And it's, y'know, it's today.”

“Okay, be more mysterious, wouldja. You seen Dad?”

“No,” He says quickly, flipping a pancake and not looking at Dean.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, whatever.” As he turns the bacon, he adds, “Oh, I have bookclub this afternoon.”

“Oh? Cool. Will you need a ride home?”

“Yeah.”

Dean shrugs, “Alright.”

As he cooks, Sam chatters about his trip to the mall with Kevin last weekend and Dean makes himself a cup of coffee. Apparently they got Starbucks courtesy of Mrs. Tran, and they were able to get free samples at the food court three times before they got recognized. While he talks, Dean checks the calendar for John's work schedule. Monday, November 2nd. Huh, he's not scheduled the next couple days. So where the hell is he?

Dean's stomach feels queasy when he pulls on his jacket. Probably the damn pancakes.

He feels sick the whole time he drives Sam to school. It gets worse the more he drives. Jesus shit, not even the smooth rumbles of his '67 Chevy Impala makes him feel better.

About a block from the middle school, Sam turns down the music.

“Hey!” Dean snaps, “Driver picks--”

“Shut up, I know,” Sam says, “Listen, I was wondering if I could come with you today.”

“Come with me? Where?”

Sam looks at him like he's stupid, “To see Mom.”

Oh fuck, that's right. It's November 2nd,, that's why his stomach hurts.

“Oh, fuck,” He says. Sam hasn't offered many times before, “Shit, uh, yeah, if you want to.”

“I do,” He says, his brow furrowing.

“Fuck, okay. Yeah. We can swing by after book club.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. Dean's stomachache travels up to his throat. Sam has a couple of friends waiting for him on the front steps when Dean drops him off, and watching them take him in with a smile eases Dean's yuck for a moment. The sun has just started peeking over the trees when he pulls out of the parking lot.

***

Dean pulls into the high school parking lot and kills the engine. Ugh. It couldn't just be November 2nd, no, it also had to be a fucking Monday. He scrubs his face with his hands. High school doesn't start for another half-hour, so he hops out and walks over to the convenience store. He grabs some beef jerky, and a candy bar for Sam. On his way out he spots some roses on clearance and grabs those, too.

By the time he gets back to school, first period has already started. He considers calling Ash and asking him to hang out under the bleachers instead of going to class, but they got caught last time, and the more he thinks about it, the less he wants John to read him the riot act again. Ugh, class it is.

Woodshop is fine. They're making bridges out of popsicle sticks, and more than one of Dean's classmates makes theirs look like a dick. He gets a laugh out of it. He flirts with some of the girls. All in all, not a bad class, except he's so distracted he almost forgets his bookbag on the way out.

Forensics is cool. He spends most of it chatting with Ash while they analyze blood spatter samples that may or may not just be watered down ketchup.

English is next. He likes it more than he admits. Their teacher, Miss Sands, is a fiery woman who does her hair in complicated 50s swirls, and she makes their work actually interesting. He is ducking in just as the late bell is ringing, and he kicks the back of Jo's chair as greeting.

“Good morning to you, too,” She says, not looking up from her notebook. She's doodling a small gun, the one Ellen has hanging on the wall of the Roadhouse in between the singing fish and the Elvis Presley poster.

“Sup?” He says, “You wanna come over for dinner? We can do a movie night.”

“Movie night? It's Monday, you weirdo.”

He huffs, “I know. But it's-- you know. November 2nd.”

“Oh shit.” She puts her pen down.

“Yeah. I'm, uh, going to see her after school, but maybe y'all could swing by afterwards?”

“Hm... We both work til close, but we can bring by some leftovers.”

Before he can respond that fuck yes, Roadhouse leftovers sound amazing, Miss Sands clears her throat and he flushes.

“Now that I have your attention,” She says, making pointed eye contact with Dean, who sinks into his chair, “Who here has heard of Frankenstein?”

Their next unit is on Frankenstein – the book, not the movie, much to Dean's disappointment – and they'll be doing a semester-long research project about it. Ugh. And it's a partner project. Double ugh. But he doesn't want to disappoint Miss Sands. Maybe he can enlist Sammy's help; They just finished Frankenstein in their book club last month.

Jo is assigned to work with Dorothy, a cute brunette who sits near the window. Dean smiles at her and she winks. Dean is assigned to work with Casteel? who is out today, just his luck. If he remembers right, Casteel sits behind him and doesn't say much. Weird. But as long as he does his work, it's whatever.

On the way to lunch, Miss Sands asks him to stay back for a minute. Jo hovers outside the room for him.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” She asks.

“Uh, yeah,” he lies, “Didn't sleep well, is all.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. If there's anything you need to talk about, please let me know.”

“Uh, thanks, teach,” He says, flushing. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Your partner Castiel let me know he's out sick right now, but he asked me to give you his phone number so you two can get in touch.”

“Oh, alright,” He says. The weirdness meter on this dude ticks up, “Is he gonna be out for a while?”

“I'm not sure,” Miss Sands says, in a way that tells him she does know but doesn't want to say.

Whatever, no skin off his nose. He takes the number and heads out.

Lunch is his favorite part of the day. He doesn't remember who started it, but for the last year everyone's brings one thing each for lunch and they all split it. A very informal potluck. Today, Ash, who's got the party half of his mullet pulled back into a braid, brought fried chicken. Jo pulls out Roadhouse baked potatoes. Dean snagged some leftover pancakes and bacon. He microwaves it for two full minutes, but the microwave just makes a weird whining noise and turns the pancakes soggy and still cold in the middle. Typical.

“Hey, man,” Dean says, as Ash takes a pancake. “Tell Jo what you were telling me in Forensics.”

“Oh god,” Jo sighs.

“No, it's legit this time, just listen.” He steals a bite of potato off Jo's fork.

“Thank you, Dean,” Ash says.

He clears his throat, “Okay, consider this: you're in Arizona...”

When Ash is finished, all Jo says is, “You're crazy,” and rolls her eyes.

Ash winks. “That's what they want you to think.”

“It makes sense to me, man,” Dean argues, “Reverse bird-watching. Seems legit.”

“You also think Sarah Jessica Parker is hot,” Jo points out.

“Cause she is, dude, you just don't get it.”

She rolls her eyes yet again, “Clearly.”

There's a lull in the conversation while they all dig into the collective lunch. While he chews on a chicken wing, Dean taps Cas-tee-el's number into his phone. As he's typing, a call springs up.

“Hey. Bobby?” He answers. Ash and Jo make look at him and he raises his eyebrows.

“Hey kid,” Bobby says, “Your dad's fine, he passed out on my couch around 3 this morning.”

“Oh,” Dean says. Right. John usually drink himself stupid on November 2nd. Right. “Okay. Great.”

“Yeah. Just thought I'd let you know. I'm making him shower and drink two bottles of water before I send 'im home.”

He chuckles, “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, kid. I gotta go, but ring me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I will.”

He ends the call. Jo chews her bottom lip and Ash has one eyebrow quirked.

“Dad's fine, just passed out at Bobby's.” He explains, suddenly feeling 10 degrees too warm.

“Typical old man,” Ash says after a moment, “He probably fell asleep watching that Spanish soap he secretly likes.”

“Quietly crying into his ice cream,” Jo adds.

“For real,” Dean says, very grateful for his friends.

They go back to eating, and after a bit, Dean says, “Hey, uh, do either of you know Castiel Novak? We're partners for an English project.”

Ash shakes his head, “Nah, can't say I do.”

“Novak? I've talked to him a couple times,” Jo says, “He's kinda odd, but he seems nice.”

Dean hums. Alright. “Cool.” He'll probably be fine to work with, then. He reopens his phone, which has gone dark.

hey is this castiel? im dean winchester, we have english 2gether.

He doesn't get an immediate response, so he pockets his phone.

They shoot the shit for a while. Jo and Dean regale Ash with only slightly exaggerated stories from their hunting trip last weekend, and Ash explains his recent computer programming project, which Dean doesn't really follow, but he likes to listen.

Instead of heading to Trig or Guitar, Dean convinces the three of them to shoot the shit under the bleachers, and when Mr. Fueler gets too close for comfort, they head over to the gas station. They get energy drinks and stale donuts and argue about whether a werewolf or a vampire would win in a fight until the store clerk asks them to leave. Dean almost forgets to be sad.

At the end of the day, Dean spends fifteen minutes after class trying to get his Chemistry teacher to explain the different properties of an atom. Eventually, the balding man looks at him pointedly and asks if there's somewhere else he needs to be. Annoyed that he got caught, he huffs and heads out.

***

Smoking outside a middle school is probably not grounds for arrest, but it certainly feels that way. Dean takes quick puffs of his cancer stick, trying to savor the hot, bitter taste in his mouth while training his eyes on the door. When Sam comes out, arm-in-arm with a tall blonde girl, he drops the cigarette and grinds it out with his heel.

“Hey, kiddo,” He says, a little too fast.

Sam doesn't notice the smoking, or at least pretends not to. He just blushes and unlinks arms with his friend, “Hey, Dean. This is Jess. Jess, this is my older brother, Dean.”

Jess waves shyly, “Hi.” She's a couple inches taller than Sam, with a mass of blonde curls and a mole right next to her eyebrow.

Dean grins. “Jess! Sam didn't tell me you were so pretty! How'd you swing a girl like that, eh Sammy?”

They blush, and he laughs.

“It's Sam,” Sam mumbles. He looks over to Jess and they both turn a truly tomatoey shade of red.

Dean grins. He hops in the car while Sam and Jess say their goodbyes, which involve a lingering hug and a squeeze of Sam's hand.

He raises his eyebrows at Sam when he climbs in.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Sam sticks his tongue out, and that's that.

Before turning onto the main road, Dean tosses him a candy bar, “Uh, thanks. For bein' a good sport.”

“Oh,” Sam says, looking the candy bar over, “Yeah, dude, of course.”

They drive in silence. Mom is little ways away through a winding backroad. Fall is in full effect in this part of town, the leaves on the trees as orange as the sunset. Night creeps over them as they drive, so by the time they pull in to the Campbell Graveyard it's almost completely dark.

Dean parks near the entrance, the cobblestone paths too narrow for his car to get through. They're hit with a blast of cold that sends a shiver up Dean's back. His fingers go numb around the roses. They march through the graves until they come to a plot near the back left, next to a tall angel statue. When they reach the site, the automatic lights flicker on.

He sets the flowers down. Someone else left a little bottle of whiskey next to the headstone.

He takes a deep breath and glances at Sam a few feet behind him, wringing his hands.

“Hey Mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna know how I envision Dean and Cas in this fic, you can check out my tumblr - veggiesforpresident !


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel awakes with a shooting pain in his throat. Merde. He coughs and coughs, his mouth filling with mucus. The pain doesn't go away. He spits into tissue and adds it to the disgustingly large pile on his bedside table. Only when he manages to take a long drink of tepid water does the pain subside.

Eugh, so much for a good night's sleep.

He sits up, which takes some of the pressure of his chest. Moonlight spills into his room through the open curtains: long, rectangular stretches of light. He takes a moment to appreciate the stillness. He takes a series of deep, slow breaths, in, hold, out, until the fullness in his chest wanes just a little. After removing all the tissues from his bedside table by jumping them onto the floor, he discovers that his inhaler is nowhere to be found.

Castiel shuffles out of bed and across the floor. It feels like more effort than he can muster to untangle the rope ladder, so he just opens the latch and drops himself down through the trapdoor. He lands with a thud and winces. It shakes another cough loose.

“Castiel?” His mother's voice says from down the hall.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” He says, coughing a few more times.

She doesn't say anything else until he passes her standing in her bedroom doorway. Her hair is falling out of it's bun and her shirt is halfway unbuttoned.

“I'm back from work,” She says, “I'm heading to bed, but let me know if you need anything.”

Castiel wants to ask how her day was. He doesn't know how.

He makes his way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. The plug-in light is much less harsh than the overhead lights, so he flips that on. His blue inhaler in in the back of the medicine cabinet behind the ibuprofen. He takes a couple slow puffs, his chest loosens immediately. He clears his throat and spits a couple more mouthfuls of yuck into the sink.

He can hear his mother moving around her bedroom. In his reflection, Castiel can see her deep-set blue eyes and square jaw.

On his way back to his room, he sees her shadow pause when he passes in front of her door.

“Mother?” He asks quietly to her door.

Adra opens it, “Yes, Castiel?” There are deep rings under her eyes.

He wants to say something else, but what comes out is, “The ladder. I can't move it.”

She nods and follows Castiel down the hall. The wooden ladder is next to the window. She heaves it over to the still-open trapdoor, and keeps it steady while Castiel climbs up.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She looks small when Castiel looks down at her through the hole in the floor.

“Um, good night.”

“Good night,” She says with a quick smile, and leaves.

And so, Castiel is left alone. Sleep is gone from his mind, so he flips his lamp on and kneels down by his bookshelf. He picks out a couple books – a book of poetry he's read a dozen times, and a Navajo history book that's due back at the library next week.

The rest of the night, Castiel reads. He coughs. He prays. He manages to fall asleep just as the sun starts peeking through the clouds. He has strange dreams he doesn't remember upon waking.

The house is empty when he wakes. It's probably afternoon, judging by how how the sun is hanging in the sky. Castiel scrubs his eyes with his palms and coughs. Another morning wasted thanks to his poumons d'la merde. He sighs. Still, he rolls over tugs open the drawer of his bedside table. He takes out his pill organizer and a water bottle, and takes drink after drink until all his medicine is washed down. Then he puffs first inhaler, his other two, and his nebulizer. He spends a few seconds coughing afterward.

Not long after, his stomach pangs, an angry twist against the fragile lining of his stomach. Merde, that's right, at least two of his pills are supposed to be taken with food. Gathering his strength, he trudges downstairs. Adra has left a note on the kitchen counter: She is out shopping and will be back by dinner. After that she's working an overnight shift, but he can call if he needs anything. He rubs his eyes and grabs an Ensure from the fridge, chugging it before tossing the empty bottle in the recycling next to the trash. His head hurts.

He shuffles over to the couch in the living room and falls back asleep with crisp fall sunlight pouring in through the tall windows.

He is awoken an hour or so later by his phone buzzing on the table. He shoots up; His mother doesn't text unless it's important.

A text from an unsaved number. Oh? His heart pounds as he opens it.

hey is this castiel? im dean winchester, we have english 2gether.

Hm. He tries to swallow the disappointment. It tastes like salt.

Right. He sort of remembers leaving his number with his English teacher. He was strung up on so many medications at that point that he's surprised he gave her the right one.

Hello, Dean. How are you? I assume this means we will be working on a project together.

He waits a few minutes for a reply, and when none comes he turns his phone back over. He sleeps again until his stomach pangs wake him. It's getting dark outside. To his own surprise, he checks his phone before heading into the kitchen. Nothing.

His mother left him a burger, which he eats in small bites, chewing thoroughly. He grabs another Ensure just to be safe. Outside, a hummingbird activates the automatic lights. It hovers around the winter holly for a few seconds before disappearing into the rapidly fading twilight. When did he last water the garden? He can't remember. Ugh. At least the forecast calls for rain.

Halfway through dinner, his phone buzzes again.

hey lol. yeah were reading frankenstein

and im fine. havin a couple friends over for a movie night

I see. Can you send me the rubric so I can look it over? I don't think I will be back in school for a few days.

What are you watching?

uh sure. I can send it later

so are you sick-sick or just playing hooky? lol

we're watching a buncha horror movies. original frankenstein included lol

I am sick-sick.

I've heard the movie is very inaccurate.

oh wow uh get well soon

Thank you.

He will not.

also lol u sound like my brother

What do you mean?

my lil bro sammy loooves talking about how bad the frankenstein movies are

He squints at his phone.

Your brother is named Sam? Is he very tall?

yea he is, why?

I might know him. I shelve books at the library and I have a friend there who matches that description

oh shit? wait do u have blue hair??

Yes, partially.

oh shit dude sam thinks ur the coolest

He blushes. Thank him for me.

i will

hey my friends r yellin @ me gtg

He finds himself disappointed, but only for a moment since his vision has started to swim.

Have a good night, he manages before shutting off his phone completely.

***

The next few days are a blur. Castiel sleeps, wakes up hacking, does his treatments, drinks nutrition shakes, and sleeps, repeat ad nauseum. By Thursday, his sinuses have cleared up and he can stand up for more than fifteen minutes at a time. He even walks a couple laps around the garden before he needs to sit on the edge of the fountain to catch his breath. The Bhutan pine up against the house is a nice block of blue-green against the drab winter morning.

His mother is on the night shift again, which leaves them a few hours together when Castiel isn't sleeping. They don't talk much. Adra does some organizing. Occasionally she moves a chess piece. Whenever Castiel is awake, he moves one as well. They've been playing for about a week now, all together. They make good progress today: he takes a knight, she takes a rook and a couple pawns.

Dean texts him. Not often, but the first couple times it happens Castiel nearly jumps out of his skin. Adra is shuffling through bills when Castiel's phone buzzes on Thursday.

hey man how r u

I am fine. Feeling much better. How are you?

good lol. do u think ur up to meet at the library tmrw? ms sands gave me all ur makeup work

“What time is my appointment tomorrow?”

“Um, 11:30, and another one at 1.”

What time?

after school? 4ish?

That should work.

I will be not at my best, but I can make it

ok thanks

He chews his bottom lip. He isn't sure what to make of Dean yet. Sam he likes. Sam is attentive and kind. They often spend time talking while Castiel shelves. He's has even mentioned Dean a few times, if Castiel remembers right, although it's usually to complain.

Maybe tomorrow will be enlightening. He tries not to hope so.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzes again.

c u there

***

The rain is just starting when Adra pulls up to the library. Castiel taps his pocket to make sure he has his inhaler, then bolts to the door. He gets under the awning just as the sky splits open. He can barely see the car through the torrential rain.

“I have to be at work at six tonight,” Adra shouts.

He raises a hand, not sure if his mother can see it. “I will text you.”

She drives away and he goes inside. It's just a hair too cold considering the weather, and it sends a shiver up his spine.

“Hey, you're not s'posed to be here today,” The librarian at the front desk says when he walks in.

Castiel startles. “I have a school project.”

“Eh? They still do those?”

“Yes,” He chuckles, “We still have to read books.”

“I'm glad to hear it. How are ya? We missed you last week.”

He hesitates, “I'm... better.”

The woman nods, “Good, good. Hey, we're getting the new James Patterson in on Sunday, do you think you could swing by to help shelve?”

Castiel nods, “I believe so.”

“Great.”

With that, Castiel takes a seat at the tables between the children's section and the audiobooks, right in front of the emergency exit. He can hear the rain pouring just outside the door. He double-checks his pockets: phone, inhaler, Creon, lighter, pen. He rubs his thumb across the inhaler. It would help. It would. But as he reaches for it, he spots Sam walk in and drops it back into his pocket.

He waves them over.

“Hey Castiel! Good to see you again,” Sam says, with a face-splitting grin.

“You too, Sam,” Castiel says. He coughs. Sam looks worried for a moment, before Dean nudges him aside.

“Run along, Sammy, I'll come find you later.”

“It's Sam,” He corrects, but goes anyway.

Dean slings his bag down and sits across from Castiel, flashing him a smile. They do look like brothers, but Dean's face is more square, and his hair is short. He's... cute. Castiel gets distracted by Dean's lips for a moment when Dean licks a drop of rain off them.

“How are you, man?” He asks.

Castiel blinks, a little startled. He starts to say he's fine, but he coughs in the middle of it.

“You sure, dude? We can reschedule.”

Castiel shrugs, “It's fine. We have work to do.”

Dean hesitates. “Right, sure.” He gets a stack of paper out of his bag, followed by a torn up Frankenstein and a pack of gum. “Want one?”

“No thank you.”

“Alright.” He pops a piece in his mouth, “How far did you get in this?” He asks, waving the book.

Castiel flushes, “Not very,” He admits, “The first couple of Walton's letters.”

“I hear you,” Dean says. He leans closer, like he's sharing a secret, and Castiel wills his heart rate to go down, “I gotta admit, I've been in class but I've still barely started.”

Castiel tries not to make a face. Cute or not, slacking is annoying, and decidedly unattractive.

“I see,” Castiel says. It must've come out kind of icy, because Dean leans back in his seat.

“...Right.”

Castiel clears his throat. Good going, Novak.

“So, Dean, do you read as much as Sam?” As he asks, he feels a cough climb up his throat.

“Nah, Sam's the bookworm of the family. Unless you count Motortrend or Playboy.”

“I do not.”

Dean chuckles.

Castiel leafs through the rubric. “I should be back in classes on Monday. Do you think--” His question gets cut off when the cough reaches his mouth. Ah, putain, it's a big one. He starts coughing and can't stop. Merde. He scrambles up and chokes out an excuse me as he bolts out the door.

The bathroom is blessedly empty when Castiel bodies his way in. He manages to hack up a large blob of gross into the sink, and then another. Merde, where is his inhaler? He throws everything into the sink: lighter, Creon, phone, pen. No inhaler. Merde!

He slaps his chest with a flat hand and spits another wad into the sink. He takes slow, circular breaths: in, hold, out, in, hold, out, as many as he can. Eventually, his heart rate goes down.

Putain de merde. Maybe he should have stayed home.

He shoves his things back into his pocket, and spits again.

Castiel is so busy taking deep breaths that he doesn't notice someone else come into the bathroom with him. He jumps when he sees another face behind him in the mirror.

“Cas?” Dean says. He reaches a hand out, but it hovers between him and Castiel's shoulder.

Great. Castiel wipes his mouth and turns around. Dean is a couple inches shorter than him. Castiel has no idea what he's thinking. Who in their right mind let you leave the house looking like that? or I can't believe we're partners, I'm going to talk to Miss Sands on Monday and tell her to switch me immediately, come to mind.

What Dean actually says, then, surprises him.

“Uh, you alright, man?”

He blinks. What? “Um. No.”

Dean chuckles, then looks away. “Sorry, I don't mean to laugh. Don't ask a stupid question if you don't want a stupid answer, right?”

Castiel coughs out a laugh despite the pain clinging to his throat, “You're fine, it's true.”

“Yeah, man. Can I, uh, do anything to help?”

He turns back to the sink before spitting again.

“No,” He says, wiping his mouth, “Thank you though.”

“Oh--” Dean fishes something out of his pocket. His inhaler. “Uh, you dropped this.”

Their fingers touch when Castiel takes it back.

He tries not to think about Dean watching him as he takes a puff, or Dean standing close behind him while he coughs another mouthful of mucus up.

“You sure you're okay?” Dean asks once Castiel has righted himself. Castiel clears his throat and straightens his back.

“I'm fine.”

“Alright?” Dean says, looking him up and down.

He looks away. “We should get back.”

“Sure. Cool,” He says, “Yeah, I heard the kids in the library are viscous, we don't wanna leave our stuff unattended too long.”

Castiel furrows his eyebrows and says seriously, “They definitely can be.” He drops his voice, “There is one mother who lets her kids run wild the whole evening on Thursdays. We've had to remind her several times that we're not a babysitting service.”

“Oh, uh, I was joking.”

Merde. Castiel hlushes.

Dean adds quickly, “Customers suck, though. I know we're a family-friendly establishment, but I fuckin' hate when people bring their kids to the Roadhouse. They're gremlins, for real.”

Castiel nods and pulls the bathroom door open, “The Roadhouse is where you work?”  


“Yeah, I'm a waiter,” Dean says, following.  


“I see.”

Back at the table, Dean leans over to Castiel and whispers, “Don't tell my dad, but I haven't been doing my homework 'cause Sam let a stray cat in last week, and we've been trying to take care of it while also hiding it from him.”

“Oh?” Castiel leans in.

“Yeah, it's half feral, I think. It's been wandering around our neighborhood for a few months.”

“What's it's name?”

“Sam named him Gabriel. I told him that's a stupid name for a cat, but he didn't care.”

Castiel freezes. It's been a long time since he heard that name.

Dean looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Merde. Say something, you fool.

“Did you know a male cat's penis is sharply barbed along it's shaft?” He asks.

Dean laughs so loud the lady at the front desk glares at him. Castiel grimaces and waves to her.

“Sorry,” Dean says to her. He leans towards Castiel and drops his voice, “Dude. Holy shit. How do you know that?”

He flushes, “I read it somewhere.”

“That's incredible.”

They wind up nixing doing actual work today since Cas is still recovering. They do get a timeline for their project, though: assuming Castiel gets better and Dean gets the cat situation under control, they will read through chapter 3 and meet back here next week. They make small talk for a while, where Cas finds out that Dean has been working at the Roadhouse for about a year, that he likes apple pie, and that he has many, many freckles.

“Will you need a ride home?” Dean asks during a lull in their conversation.

“Um,” Castiel says, “Sure. If you wouldn't mind.”

“Yeah, no problem. Where do you live?”

“Down on Delacroix.”

“Ooh, the rich kid neighborhood, I see you.” Dean gives a sly smile.

Castiel squints, “Where do you live?”

“Down on Third.”

Ah, the trailer park. Before he can say anything about it, Sam bounces up to them with a dozen books in his arms.

“Damn, Sam, you're gonna finish all those?” Dean asks.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Nerd.”

“You're one to talk.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shaddup. Hey, is it alright if we bring Cas home?”

He lights up and turns to Castiel. “Is he gonna stay for dinner?”

“Um, I cannot. My mother and I have plans.” It's not true, but he doesn't want to explain that his chest is starting to ache.

Sam pouts.

“Maybe next time,” Dean offers, smiling a little.

Castiel hesitates, but nods. Yes, next time.

Dean drives a boxy old car, and apparently hates it when anyone talks badly about her. Castiel discovers this when the Impala takes a minute to start, and Dean leans over and whispers sweet nothings into the steering wheel.

“Does that help?” Castiel turns around to ask Sam, who is sequestered to the back seat.

“No,” Sam laughs.

“I heard that!” Dean says, “It does, too, so you be nice to her.”

Castiel doesn't believe him, but he doesn't say anything about it.

Halfway down the highway, Dean turns the music down. “Hey Cas, tell Sam what you told me earlier, about the cats.”

“Is this gonna be gross?” Sam asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes.”

Sam groans.

Castiel hesitates.

“Go on,” Dean urges.

“Um, a cat's penis is sharply barbed along it's shaft. I am fairly sure the females were not consulted about this.”

This gets another laugh out of Sam.

“That's not gonna get me to give up Gabe,” He says. Castiel winces.

Dean rolls his eyes, “Ehh, it was worth a shot.”

***

The rain is letting up by the time he pulls into Castiel's driveway. He rushes to the door anyway. Sam goes around to the front seat once he leaves, and Dean stalls in the driveway until Castiel actually opens the front door.

He waves them off and goes inside, where warmth surrounds him immediately. He follows the kitchen light like a moth to flame and slings his backpack onto the tall chair at the island. Adra is dressed for work, stirring pasta over the stove.

“Castiel? You're back early,” She says, glancing up at him.

“Yes. My... friend dropped me off.” The word feels weird on his tongue.

“How was it?”

“It was good.”

He goes over to the back window and flips the light on. The fountain is overflowing and the vegetable bed has started leaking mud onto the pathway. Putain. He coughs a couple times.

“How does it look?” Adra asks.

Castiel shifts back on his feet, “Um, not good.”

“Mm. Maybe you can put tarps down next time.”

He turns away from the sound of her voice, “Um, yes. Perhaps.”

“Did that journalist get back to you about when they're publishing the article?” A couple months ago, a journalist for a local gardening magazine had reached out about an interview and Castiel had obliged.

Yes, just this morning. It will be coming out next month. “No.”

“Oh, okay.”

He can feel his mother's eyes on him, but she says nothing else.

He goes back to the island and sits down. He takes out his phone and runs his fingers around the edge, struck with an urge he hasn't had in a very long time: he wants to text his new friend. He was nicer than Castiel had expected, but Sam's complaints had been all he had to go on. It was a strange hour, but decidedly good, and he is now more curious about Dean than ever.

He taps his fingers on his phone, still not opening it.

“Is everything alright?” Adra hesitates, then props herself on her forearms and leans towards him.

What Castiel wants to say is no. He wants to say that he is afraid he messed up somehow today. He wants to say that he is afraid he will mess up again. That friendship is not his strong suit. But the thought of telling Adra any of that makes adrenaline spike in Castiel's chest, so instead he says, “I'm gay.”

His mother is quiet for a moment, blinking rapidly. “Oh. Okay.”

“Yes.” He nods.

“I – Thank you for telling me,” She says, looking him up and down.

He shifts in his seat.

She knits her brows together, squinting when she asks, “Were – Does that mean you and Alfie...?”

Castiel looks away, out the back window where the fountain is overflowing with rain. Pain swells in his chest, and he waits until it subsides to speak again.

“Yes,” He says, “We were.”

“Ah.” She pauses, studying Castiel for a minute. “Okay. You know, Rosa Bonheur lived with another woman for many years, she even referred to Natalie as her wife.”

Castiel chews his bottom lip, “Bonheur?”

“She painted the horses.”

“Ah.” That's how he knows the name.

She smiles at him for a second, and looks like she wants to say something else. But before she can, he is hit with a wave of nausea and he goes to lie down on the couch.

Through half-sleep, he hears her murmur, “Thank you.”

When he wakes again, he is alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: recreational drug use (marijuana)

Happy Turkey Day!!!

Charlie sends a photo of the folding table in the kitchen covered in plates and plates of magnificent Thanksgiving food: fresh rolls, sweet potatoes covered in marshmallow, green bean casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, and mountains and mountains of steaming hot turkey. Dean's mouth waters.

ughhh charlie r u tryna kill me?

Yes, yes I am.

damn it, I cant die yet i have things to do

like coming for thanksgiving next year?

yes. also for the moondoor tournament this feb if I can swing it

yessss please

ill try! i miss u

ew gross!!

ur gross

hows ur mom?

Shes good! she said if I keep my grades up she'll teach me her apple pie recipe

holy shit.

what an honor

I know right?

shes also been taking Princess Leia on runs lately

what??

Well, its more like tying PL to her wheelchair and letting her run at top speed

awesome. a 1-dog sled race

Exactly.

Hey dad needs help with the stuffing ttyl

bye

hey howre you guys holdin up?

hanging in there my man. my cousins are on the train to drunksville and im pulling into the station

godspeed my dude

jo?

She doesn't respond right away, so Dean closes the groupchat.

He opens another message and stares at his phone. He and Castiel have been getting along lately, Dean would even say they've become friends. Castiel is weird, no denying that: he wears a trenchcoat every day and just last week he needed Dean to explain to him what Star Wars was. Seriously, Star Wars. But, he's cool, too: he's is wicked knowledgeable about the most random stuff, like ancient Roman history and gardening. His sense of humor is hard to see at first, too, but when Dean gets it, it leaves him in stitches.

hey man how are ya?

Hello, Dean. I'm good, repotting some plants

How are you?

isnt it a little late in the year for plants? lol

im fine, I need to clean the cat hair off the couch before dad gets home

No, croton is hearty. Spinach can last into the winter, too, which is next on the list.

maybe I should start a garden, itd save money on groceries hahaha

That's a great idea.

thanks man

How is the cat?

gabes good; he hates being cooped up in sams room so sam sneaks him out when dads not around

which means I have to clean all the cat hair off the couch >:(

That doesn't sound fun.

thanks its not

He snaps a picture of Gabriel loafing on the back of the couch with Sam scratching him behind the ears.

He's a beautiful cat.

thanks

Did Sam get glasses?

yea theyre new

They suit him

ill tell him u said so

There's a lull in conversation and Dean gets up and goes to search for the lint roller. He's digging through the closet in the front room when Castiel says:  
Are you familiar with Star Trek?

Dean raises his eyebrows. 'Familiar' is an understatement – he was just texting Charlie the other day with a hefty analysis of the Kirk-v-Gorn fight scene.

yeah why?

I picked up a book the other day and did not realize it was a Star Trek novel.

oh shit? yeah I know it

Oh good. My mother wasn't familiar with it either

omg how? you guys r useless

Excuse me?

sorry lol I just thought everyone knew about star trek

uhh what do u want to know

The characters name are Captain Kirk and Spock. What are they from?

sounds like u got a book for the original series that aired in the 60s

I see. What's it about?

He types out a very long paragraph about the show, its initial reception, and why they made the changes they did from the pilot to the first aired episode, but halfway through he tells himself Castiel won't care, and deletes it. Instead, he says:

basically The Enterprise and her crew goes out and explores new planets and solve problems. its rly cool and like optimistic.

ud like spock I think

Ah. It sounds good.

yeah lol it is

lmk what u think of the book

if u like it I can show u the tv series

I would like that.

Thank you.

Sam wanders into the kitchen with Gabe trotting behind him. He takes a look around and scrubs his chin with his hands, muttering something about the dishes.

“You're cleaning the cat hair before Dad gets back,” Dean reminds him.

He makes a face, “You said you were gonna do it!”

“No, I said I would do the couch, you get to do the rest.”

“Dean!”

“Sam!”

They glare at each other for a moment before Sam looks away, defeated.

“You're the worst,” He mutters.

“Am not. If you don't wanna clean it, you can keep him in your room like Dad told you to.”

“He's just a cat, Dean, and my room is tiny!”

He rolls his eyes, “Just make sure its clean.”

“Fine.”

why r little brothers so annoying?

I wouldn't know. Whats Sam doing?

just being a pest

I'm sorry to hear that

thanks

u dont have siblings right?

No, it's just my mother and me

right u mentioned. must be nice

It is what it is.

Sometimes its lonely

yeah I get u

Thanks

There's a clatter from the kitchen, and Dean whips around to see Sam covered in something brown and sticky, and Gabe around his feet.

gtg ttyl

They get the gravy cleaned up with help from Gabe, who meows and saunters off into Sam's room. After that, the boys get started on dinner. Well, Dean tries to get started, but Sam yells at him and says potatoes need to be microwaved before you can mash them, and promptly banishes him from the kitchen.

This turns out to be a good thing, because a few minutes later there's a furious knock at the door.

“What the fuck?” Dean says, pulling the door open.

Jo opens her mouth to say something, but can't get a word out before her lip starts quivering. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Dean ushers her inside with an arm around her shoulder. He leads her into the kitchen, where Sam hands her a glass of water. He rubs her shoulder until she's calm enough to speak.

“My dad showed up,” She murmurs.

Dean short-circuits. “What the fuck?” He says again.

She snorts, “I know. Ma had no idea he was coming. He just – just showed up out of nowhere.”

“What did he want?” Sam asks, leaning closer.

Jo is quiet for a moment, staring at the table. 

The first time Jo's dad left, Jo and Ellen had shown up at the Winchester's old house in the middle of the night, Ellen's eyes ready to pop out of her head. She said a string of words Dean didn't know at the time, and Mom ushered them all into the living room without a second thought. Dean and Jo were shooed off to sleeping bags on Dean's bedroom floor, and they passed out shortly after to the muffled sound of Mary and Ellen muttering together in the living room. It was the first of many nights like that that year.

“He wanted to apologize for walking out,” Jo says finally. Her hand starts shaking and she puts the glass down, “Like – just, he wanted us to be a family again. Like he deserves it after what he put us through.”

“That's bullshit. What did Ellen say?”

She shakes her head, “I dunno. I left before I could find out.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“Language,” Dean scolds. Sam flips him off. “Does she know where you are?”

She looks away, into her curtain of blonde hair.

“Jo!” Dean puts his hands on his hips.

“I was mad, okay?” She crosses her arms.

“At least let her know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Dean...” She wrinkles her nose.

“I'll tell her if you want.”

She sighs, “Fine.”

He hugs her one-armed. While he texts Ellen, she goes to the bathroom to wash up. Sam goes off to keep workign on dinner. On Jo's way back, Dean pulls her aside, “Hey, why don't we go for a drive? We can, uh...” He puts two fingers to his lips and pulls away.

She nods with vigor, “Fuck yes. Please.”

“Sweet.”

He goes to grab his coat and toes his shoes on. “Hey Sammy, we're goin' on a drive.”

“What? Where?” He comes out and folds his arms across his chest, looking Dean up and down.

“Out.”

“Out?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Out.”

They have a stare-off again, but then Sam glances at Jo, who's face is still puffy and red, and he gives in.

“Ugh, fine.” He rolls his eyes, “Just be back for dinner, okay?”

“Okay, mom.”

Jo pulls the joint from Dean’s lips and it comes out with a pop. She takes a drag and holds it for a few seconds, then opens her mouth out so the smoke drifts out from her mouth and nostrils. Nostrils, what a weird word. If Dean thinks it too many times, it stops being a word. Word. Woooord. Word word word. Oh man, he’s thought that too many times now too.

“What?” Jo asks.

Oh shit. He didn’t realize he was talking. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Hah,” She snorts. She curls her leg up to her chest and takes another drag, “Whatever, man.”

They pass the joint back and forth a few more times. Dean settles back into his seat.

“Jesus,” He says on his last toke, “It’s been too long.”

“Chyeah, I know,” Jo says. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, “Ash's gonna be pissed we did this without him.”

“Mm,” Dean nods. Or he thinks about nodding, anyway. “He’ll need it after dealing with his family.”

“Mm, totally.”

He chuckles. “Next time.” He closes his eyes and different colors swim in and out behind his eyelids. It feels like it already is next time. Or right now. Or like... time is standing still. Something's going on with the time, that's for sure. Time travel would be cool. Just. Going forward to whatever point you wanted. Yeah, that'd be awesome. Dean would fast-forward to after he cleaned the fucking cat hair off the couch. God, he is so relieved John isn’t home.

“Dean,” Jo says, snapping Dean back to reality, “You’re rambling.”

“Shit.”

Jo laughs, taking one last puff and smushing the joint out; Dean inhales the lingering smoke.

She scrunches up her face and sneezes.

Dean laughs, “What, are you allergic to weed?”

“Nah, just you.” She sneezes again.

“I’m hurt,” He says, clutching his chest, “Me, your very own brother.”

“Brother? I thought I was your daughter? You and Ash's lovechild?”

“Not when Ash isn’t here, now I’m your brother.”

She rolls her eyes, “Weirdo.”

“You know it.” He waggles his eyebrows, and the two of them dissolves into giggles.

Dean feels like he's floating. Or underwater. He's not really sure he cares which.

“Hey uh. You think we could invite Castiel sometime?” He asks after a few minutes, his heart speeding up.

“Who? Oh, Novak? Sure.”

Good. Thats really good. It makes him feel lighter, and he's not really sure why.

They talk and laugh for a little while longer. At some point, Dean’s phone buzzes in the cup holder – a text from Ellen.

Youd better be on your way back!!!!!

leaving now

He almost says calm ur tits, but catches himself just in time. Thank God he does, Ellen would have actually decapitated him.

Jo bristles when he tells her about the texts, wrinkling her nose.

“M'sorry,” He murmurs. He starts the car, but instead of driving he puts on Metallica and they sit through a couple songs. When they do head out, he starts down toward the Roadhouse, before Jo reminds him she doesn't actually live there. Oops. Right. He swings a right and drops her off at the townhouse. There’s a strange grey Honda in the spot he usually parks in; Jo sticks her tongue out at it.

Dean sticks his head out the window while she's digging around for her keys. “Kick his ass, eh? Harvelle style.”

She smiles, “Thanks, man.”

He waits the requisite minute for her to get inside before he pulls out of the parking lot.

did jo get home ok?

yea shes fine. hows dinner 

its good! be done soon

rad alright im omw home

k

Dean swings a left on his way out of the complex. The main road is to the right, but he really shouldn’t be doing 50 in his state. It’s a few minutes longer trip, but whatever, he likes driving.

The road is thin and winding. A couple times, it splits off into a neighborhood: Milton Ave, Hendrickson Street, Talbot Road. Just as he passes Delacroix Avenue, he spots someone walking down the side of the road. Someone in a long, tan coat.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, slowing the car to a roll, “Castiel! Cas! Hey!”

Castiel's hair is going every direction and the front is dyed bright, bright blue. He squints at the car, tracking it's approach with his eyes. “Um, hello, Dean. What are you doing here?”

He clicks his hazards on and stops the car completely.

“Uh,” He says, “I was dropping off Jo, you know Jo Harvelle?” He jerks his thumb behind him, “She lives in the townhouses over there.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. Dude,” He says, popping the door lock up, “Why don’t you come in, have a seat?”

Castiel hesitates, but gets in.

ran into a friend b home in a bit

ugh dont take forever!!

Dean starts the car again, “So, where ya headed?”

“Nowhere. I was out for a walk,” Castiel says.

“Oh. Shit, sorry. I can, uh,” He fumbles with the lock again, but it’s hard while he’s driving and talking, “Shit, I totally kidnapped you just now.”

Castiel chuckles. It's deep and throaty.

“It's fine,” He says, “I don’t have any pressing matters.”

“Really? No Thanksgiving with your family?” 

“No, it's a stupid holiday.”

Dean snorts. “Fair enough.”

They drive in silence for a few minutes, until they pull up to a stop sign. As Dean swings a right, he says, “Me ’n Sam don’t celebrate it most of the time.”

“Really? Why?”

“Ehh,” He shrugs, veering onto a little dirt road, “We just don’t get around to it. M’dad works a lot, and they love scheduling him on holidays, it's more effort than it's worth usually, ya know?”

Castiel hmms in agreement.

The dirt path goes for a while, twisting deeper into the woods before it ends all of a sudden. At the edge of the path is a clearing just before a steep drop. Beyond the drop is the city, far enough away that if Dean sticks his thumb out and closes one eye, he can cover the whole thing.

“C'mon,” Dean says, getting out of the car and hopping up on the hood, “I didn't bring you here to serial-murder you, I promise.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

Idiot, Dean scolds himself. But Castiel gets out and up on the car, so maybe Dean isn't a complete dumbass. The engine is warm despite the late-November chill.

Underneath his big coat, Castiel has on a t-shirt with _You’re on Stolen Land_ emboldened on the front. The white letters glow against the black fabric.

“Nice shirt.”

“Thank you. It's actually why I don't like today.”

“No shit?”

“Nope. There is historical evidence that suggests Thanksgiving specifically commemorates the murder of seven hundred members of the Pequot tribe.”

“Shit, really?” He lets out a low whistle.

“Yes.”

“Wow. That’s fucking incredible. Like, I don’t mean good incredible, I mean like, unbelievable, that kind of incredible. Like, wow. Am I rambling? Sorry, I do that when I’m, uh-- when I'm high.”

Castiel stares at him as if reassessing his mental framework of his new friend.

“I see,” He says after a moment, “You're fine. What's it like?”

“Being high?”

He nods.

“Shit, um, I'm kinda coming down now, which is good 'cause I could barely put two words together earlier. Uh. I guess it's like you're floating? And everything is really funny, like, really funny.”

Castiel nods, slowly, “I see.”

He's nice to look at, Dean thinks. Like, really nice. He's got a sharp profile. Chiseled, maybe is a word he would use, like one of those Greek statues.

“Oh, thank you,” Castiel says, turning pink.

Fuck. Did he say that out loud?

“You did.”

Shit.

Castiel smiles, his gaze lingering.

They go quiet again for a minute. A gust of wind hits them, and Dean shivers. The sounds of the city churn below them, cogs of urbanization that haven't quite found their way to their side of town yet.

“Dean,” Castiel says after a moment, “Have you heard of cystic fibrosis?”

“Uh. Fuck, dude, I dunno, you picked the wrong time to ask.”

“I apologize,” He says, looking away.

“No, I mean. Gimme a second.” He sits up a little. His thoughts are heavy, but he sifts through them as best he can, “It's like... a chronic illness, right? Something to do with your lungs?”

“Yes. It’s a chronic illness where one’s lungs fill up with mucus. It is lifelong, and it usually gets diagnosed during childhood.”

“Okay... And?”

Castiel bites his lip. “I have it. Cystic fibrosis.”

Oh. “Shit.” He turns to face Castiel proper. Castiel follows suit with coughs. “Is that why you were so sick a few weeks ago?”

“It was. Thankfully, my cold was very mild. Any worse and it could have been totally debilitating to someone like me.”

Someone like him. The way he says sounds like he means more than just 'someone who's sick', but Dean doesn't press.

“Yeah, you looked awful,” He says.

Castiel bristles, looking away.

Winchester, you idiot.

“Shit. I mean like, you look good now.”

“Thank you?”

“I mean it, dude, you look real good.”

Castiel doesn't say anything, but he looks Dean up and down.

Dean swallows.

“So, um, you're not like, dying, right?”

To his surprise, his companion laughs. “Um. No. As long as I stay vigilant, I can live until I'm middle-aged.” 

“Okay. Cool. Uh, hey, can we circle back to this later? When I'm, like, sober?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, man, no problem.”

The wind picks up again, blowing some dead leaves around in a big circle. Dean leans all the way back against the windshield and puts his hands behind his head. A few puffy clouds float by, but the rest of the sky is bright blue like the front of Castiel's hair. Dean glances over, where Castiel has followed his lead and is leaning back himself. Cas has long eyelashes. One of said eyelashes is stuck to his cheek, and Dean spends way longer than he means to staring at it, thinking about how he'd like to brush it off. When he looks away from the eyelash, Castiel is staring at him. His heart picks up.

“Hey,” Dean says, trying to keep cool.

“Hello.”

Castiel's eyes wander over Dean's face, studying, not really looking at anything in particular. Dean finds himself doing the same. Cas has deep lines under his eyes, not from being tired, although he has those too. But these are little etchings in his face, like a sculptor carved a line diagonally from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.

Castiel takes a deep breath, which comes out a little shaky. He smiles at Dean crookedly.

He doesn't know how long they lay that way, looking at each other. It could be hours, or years; Dean's still high enough he's not sure. But it's nice.  


Sam calls eventually. He's more sober by then, which is good because Sam's gone high-pitched with worry. Dean laughs and tells him he'll be home soon. Sam grumbles.

“Drive ya home?” He offers, clicking his phone off. He slides off the hood of the car and wobbles a little, flailing his arms to catch himself before he falls.

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel nods. He climbs off the car, too, landing with a soft thump. He doesn't flail, just coughs.

Dean grins at him. Castiel smiles back.

They go.


	4. Chapter 4

Jo leans over on the counter and pop-pop-pops her spine back into place. She rolls her neck with a satisfying crunch, “Ahh.”

"Its fucking disgusting how you do that," Dean grimaces, wiping up the drink rings on the table because no one knows how to use fucking coaster.

"Thanks, it's a talent." She winks.

Dean snorts.

Mom swings by and stabs a couple orders into the order wheel for Ash, and says, "You got a customer at table 4."

She peers out at the booth, where a scrawny kid in a trenchcoat is waiting. Right, Dean said Novak was coming by.

"You wanna take that one?" She asks him.

Dean glances over and his lips twitch into a smile, but he shakes his head, "Can't, I'm clocking out at 7:30."

She puts a hand on her hips. "Ugh, again?"

"Yep. Tragic, I know, but someone's gotta take care'a Sam."

"Ugh," She scoffs and goes over to the table.

Novak smiles at her, "Hello. Jo, right?"

"That's what they call me. How are ya?"

"I'm well."

The kid's got unnaturally good posture, even when he coughs a couple times into his sleeve.

"You know what you want yet?"

"Yes. I'd like one of every dessert you have, please."

She raises her eyebrows, "Really? That's like, six things."

Novak furrows his brow and nods seriously, "If it's not too much trouble."

"Uh, no, it's fine. One of everything, comin' up. Anything else?"

He shakes his head, “No thank you. Water, actually.”

“Sure thing.”

Jo drops off the order and checks on her other tables, bringing table 6 another sweet tea. Back at the bar, Dean says, "Oh, Ash wanted to talk to you."

She rolls her eyes, "He probably wants the Dracula DVD back. I told him I gave it to you last Christmas."

He blinks, "Huh. I thought it looked familiar."

"Yeah. He said he didn't care what happened to it. Besides, it's not even his DVD anyway, we bought it together cause he didn't have the $10.”

Dean rolls his eyes, "Some people. Well, you know him, he's probably doing ungodly science experiments with it."

"Probably gonna get high and watch it and the Wizard of Oz at the same time.”

He huffs a laugh, “Probably.”

Ash dings the bell and Dean goes to take the tray of drinks over to the group of giggling first years at Table 1. He's unfairly pretty, Jo's thinks. He knows it, too, which makes it even worse; He gives the ladies easy smiles and they all lose it, blushing and giggling to each other. No way at least two of them don't leave him their numbers by the end of the night. He's the Roadhead reigning champ for a reason, she supposes.

With some down time, Jo cracks open her textbook. She taps her fingers on the bar in the part of the Mozart sonata she keeps fumbling on. Is it an F or an F#? Crap. Every so often, she sneaks glances at Novak, who's just... sitting there, his hands folded in front of him. Not even on his phone or anything. He's got a little notepad beside him, but he's keeping it closed. Dean says he's cool, though, and they've actually hung out once or twice outside of doing their project, so Jo is curious what the fuss is all about. Novak's water is ready to go a minute later, so she takes it to him.

"Thank you," He says. "Did you know restaurants were popularized after the French revolution? All the bourgeoise personal chefs no longer had anyone to cook meals for, so they took their skills to the public."

She blinks, "Oh, uh, no, I didn't know that." Neat.

Novak beams, proud of his ability to impart wisdom. It would be attractive, Jo considers, if he wasn't obviously as gay as a tree of a monkeys high on nitrous oxide.

"Your food'll be out soon," She promises, rapping her knuckles against the table, and leaves. Table 8 needs napkins and Table 2 needs straws and someone just sat down at Table 10, so Jo barely has time to breathe before she brings Novak his desserts. One slice of apple pie, one cherry, one blueberry, funfetti cake, chocolate cake, two kinds of cookies, and a pudding. Jo's stomach turns thinking about it, but Novak just looks it over neutrally.

"Thank you." He smiles at her again.

Once she leaves, she sneaks into the kitchen to wash her hands in the big sink. Ash is flipping a row of burgers and sup nods at her.

"Who's the football game versus this weekend?" She asks.

"Uhh, Lakeland?" He guesses.

Hm, so not a total snoozefest, "You wanna go? We can sneak in around the back."

"Sure thing, brah."

She looks around at the bare plaster walls and says, not for the first time, "We gotta get a flatscreen in here."

"I know,” He says.

A few minutes later, Dean pops in with his apron slung over his shoulder, "Quittin' time."

Jo looks at the clock, "Shit, 7:30 already?"

"Yepp." He grins and she flips him off.

When he's gone, Ash leans over and asks how much they've made in tips tonight.

“Like twenty bucks, maybe twenty-five. That's what, a tank of gas?”

“On a good day. He'll need at least two to just get to San An, not to mention getting back.”

“Ugh.” She huffs, pulling her shirt down a little and adjusting her boobs. The things she does for her friends, seriously. She just hopes they get the money in time.

A little bit later, Mom comes by again. "Phones awa-- Oh, you're studying."

"Yeah, I got a test tomorrow." She gestures to the diagram of a molecule.

"Right, that's fine then. Hey, listen, I've gotta drop something off at Singer's Auto before it closes, are you guys good by yourselves for an hour?"

"Sure."

Mom touches her cheek and smiles, "Atta girl."

Thankfully, most of their customers leave by 8. Since Dean is gone for the night, the table of giggling girls heads out soonafter. The family in the back corner's baby starts screaming after a little while, so they apologize and show themselves out. Soon, it's just her, Ash, and Novak left. She goes to check on the kid and he's scribbling furious notes in his notebook.

"Everything good, man?" She asks, peering at his writing.

He jumps, startled, and his notebook flips shut. "It's all excellent! Serving the apple pie with cheese is a very satisfying combination." He smiles like he really means it.

"Cool, man, I'm glad you like it. Do you need anything else?"

"No. Um, but I did misspeak earlier, apparently the Shing dynasty had restaurants in the 1200s, but they weren't popular in the west for another 600 years."

Jo nods, "Huh. Cool." She points to the far wall, "See that little gun? That's a colt made in 1835. It was handmade by some guy back in the day and apparently it can only use these special bullets. S'been in our family for ages."

Novak nods, "Very interesting. Do you know what makes it so unique?"

She shrugs, "That I'm not sure, but Mom might know, I'll ask."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Course. So what's with the uh, heart attack on a plate?"

Novak looks concerned.

"It was a joke," She explains, "I mean, why all the desserts?"

"Ah. I like, um, trying all the desserts in a restaurant the first time I go. It's a hobby, I guess."

"So you're like, a professional dessert reviewer? Any other notes, besides the apple pie?"

Novak flips back a couple pages, "The blueberry was good, but it could use a little acidity to give it more depth of flavor. I recommend lemon juice."

Jo snaps her fingers, "Lemon juice! That's what we're out of. Hang on – Ash!"

He sticks his head out from the kitchen, "Yeah?"

"Lemon juice! In the blueberry pie."

"Shit!" He disappears again and there's a clattering sound.

She snorts. "Shit, thanks, Novak."

"Of course."

He's earnest, that's a good word for it. She can see why Dean likes him. "Hey, we close at 9, but you're welcome to stay if you want to help us clean up."

"Um. Yes, sure."

"Sweet." She leaves him to finish his pudding, and she wipes down a couple of Dean's tables.

The rest of the night goes quickly. Novak is finishing his desserts just as 9 o'clock hits, and Jo shows him how to stack his dishes and bring them back to the kitchen. She flips the open sign to closed, slaps a bucket full of dirty water a rag down on the bar, gets to work. Ash puts on the rock station and turns it up.

Novak stares at her. She tosses him a wet rag and points to the booths by the window. He coughs a few times while cleaning, but he rolls up his trenchcoat sleeves and washes tables like he was born to do it. Huh. Dean mentioned something after he met up with him the first time, he thinks the kid has bad lungs. Poor guy.

It's slow going even with an extra person. Ash gets stuck behind a mountain of dishes for the better part of half an hour. Ellen comes back as Jo is finishing off her side of the room and they make introductions. "This is N-- Castiel Novak, a friend from school. Cas, this is Ellen, my mom."

"How ya doin'?" Ellen asks, shaking his hand and wiping the wet off on her jeans.

"Hello, Ellen, I'm well. How are you?"

"Not s'bad."

And that's that. Jo gets the remaining table on Cas' side, dancing to the music as she goes. Someone left their whole purse on the seat -- she suspects it was the family with the screaming kid – so she brings it up to the bar and Ellen calls the number they found in the wallet.

Ash tosses Chemistry vocab words her way and she fumbles through definitions.

At the end of the night, Ellen insists Jo drive Novak home. She obliges; He lives the housing complex across from her anyway. Delacroix, the rich kid neighborhood where they all have 2-story houses. She's a little worried it'll be awkward, but in the car Novak and Ash wind up chatting about some weird French movie they've both seen, so it's not too bad.

After dropping Novak off, Jo stumbles home and Ash follows. They play a round of pool in the basement and Ash falls asleep on the couch. Jo sneaks upstairs and sets the automatic timer on coffeepot for the ungodly hour Ash wakes up at, and goes up to her room. She could finish looking over her Chem notes, but her eyes keep drooping and she figures if she knows it, she knows it, and if not, well, she's a senior anyway. She takes her pants off, gets into bed, and falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: smoking
> 
> There is some Greek in this chapter! You should be able to hover over each bit to get a translation. Also if said Greek is wrong at all, please let me know!

“Castiel?”Adra calls.

Cas tears himself up from the bed and heaves open the trapdoor. “Yes?”

His mother peers up at him, her arms folded over her chest. Her curly black hair is clipped into it's usual low ponytail. “Are you ready to go?”

He looks away, “Um, almost.”

“Is something wrong?”

He glances behind him, trying to think of how to say it.

After a moment, Adra asks to come up. He kicks down the rope ladder. She looks around at his wardrobe, the desk, the bookshelf. Her eyes linger on the floor next to his bed. He swallows.

“Um,” He says again. He gestures down to his bed, where The Vest is waiting for him. The part that wraps around his chest is large and blue, soft with wear, with thick black tubes connecting it to a white machine roughly the size and shape of a toaster. Castiel runs his hands over it's familiar wrinkles, “Should I bring it?”

“Why wouldn't you?” She asks, crossing her arms.

Castiel shuffles, heat creeping up his neck. “I am... embarrassed.”

“Oh,” Adra says. She swallows and searches his face, “Why?”

Castiel considers it. Sam definitely would not judge him. Dean... he isn't sure.

“I don't know,” he admits.

Just then, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

I cleared off a shelf in the bathroom cabinet so u can set up shop lol

Oh.

Thank you, Dean.

“I suppose they won't care.”

“I would bring it. It will help.”

“Yes. Alright.”

Adra smiles. She shifts her weight onto one foot, eyeing him for a minute before asking, “Is there anything else you need?”

He hesitates before settling on, “Um. I have been slacking on my Greek, can we practice on the way?”

She blinks, and a slow smile spreads across her face.

“[Ναι, γιος μου,](%20)” She agrees.

“[ευχαριστώ μαμά](%20).”

***

“Ah, merde,” He mutters to himself as Adra pulls out of the neighborhood.

“Yes? What's wrong?”

He freezes. “Um. Nothing. I forgot to lock the door to the shed.” He also forgot to put the wire netting around the vegetable plot.

“Oh. I can do that when I get back.”

He swallows. He fidgets in his seat. “Um.”

Adra glances at him, pulling the car to the side of the road. “Would you like me to turn around?”

“Yes, please.”

She swings the car around and does her best not to roll her eyes. Back at the house, Castiel races to the backyard and latches the shed door shut. He bends the wire cage around the vegetables, tucking the ends into the dirt. He runs back to the car, breathing hard when he gets in.

“Better?” She asks, side-eyeing him as he huffs and puffs.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Castiel?” She asks as they pull out of the neighborhood for the second time. She flexes her hands on the steering wheel.

“ Ναι?” He asks.

She hesitates, like she wants to ask one thing, but at the last moment changes her mind. She says, “Is Dean... I mean, are you two dating?”

His heart picks up, “[ Όχι μαμά](%20). We're friends.”

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, “Okay. I just thought I would ask.”

“Thank you. But no.”

[Μακάρι να ήμασταν](%20), Castiel thinks, turning to watch the houses blur by. A few pinprick snowflakes have begun to fall.

They pull up to the Winchester's at the same time a young blonde girl is leaving. She looks about Sam's age, is very tall, and is holding a present. She waves at the Novaks, they wave back.

“Cas!” Sam says, opening the door with a smile.

“Sam.”

The younger Winchester lets them in and calls for Dean, who appears from one of the bedrooms in a truly hideous sweater. It looks something an old grandmother would wear, with a teddy bear and a ragdoll hanging ornaments on a Christmas tree. He turns red when he notices Castiel looking.

“Um, it's a tradition.”

“I see.”

He turns redder and scratches the back of his neck, “Right. Uh, anyway, it's nice to see you, Mrs. Novak.”

“It's Miss.”

“Right.”

After a long moment, Adra says, “I have pie.”

“Oh, awesome!” Dean lights up, “Thank you. Um, you can set it over there.” He points to the kitchen table, where Sam has started clearing a space.

“Thank you.”

“'Course.”

Once the pie is delivered, she squeezes Castiel's elbow, wishes him good night, and leaves. He watches her march down to the car. She smiles at him before she drives off, although it comes off more like a grimace.

When Castiel turns back, Dean is looking him up and down with a half-smile on his mouth.

“So,” Dean says.

“So,” Castiel says.

“Uh, merry early Christmas, dude. You can leave your bags in there,” He points to the door behind Castiel. “What kinda pie is it?”

“Apple.”

He makes a throaty sound, “Fuck yes. How'd you know I loved apple pie?”

“Lucky guess,” Castiel shrugs, as if Dean hasn't mentioned how excellent the Roadhouse apple pie is pretty much every time he gets off shift. He personally prefers the cherry, but to each his own.

They wind up having a couple slices before making grilled cheese and reheated soup for dinner. Cas digs his Creon out and takes a few before eating. He learns that the girl who had left when he showed up was Jessica Moore, a friend of Sam's.

“Well, more like girlfriend,” Dean whispers, “But Sammy's being a gentleman about it.”

“Shut uuup,” Sam says from behind his textbook.

“Make me.”

“I think that's sweet,” Castiel says.

Sam just groans and buries himself deeper into his homework.

“Innit?” Dean says.

Once they finish their dinner, Dean asks if he wants to keep watching Star Trek: The Original Series.

“Yes, please.”

With that, they head to Dean's room. It's small, but warm. The walls are lined with posters, concert tickets, and various other memoribilia. It looks like Dean made a marginal effort to pick things up; His dirty clothes are in a laundry basket near the window, and there's enough room on the floor to pull out the trundle bed. The dresser remains cluttered, covered in little green army men, photographs, and even an ash tray. He peers at one of the photos: Dean, his face painted in blue stripes, stands next to a girl with fiery red hair. They're both wearing medieval garments.

“That's Charlie,” Dean says, “A friend of mine from when we lived in San Antonio. That from the Moondoor tournament a couple years ago.”

“Moondoor?”

“Yeah. Um, it's like... A bunch of people get together and act out, like, fantasy scenes? Like, uh, Charlie's parents were the King and Queen of Moons before the accident, so Charlie is the princess, and I'm her head knight when I'm around. You can do all kinds of stuff, like learn magic, or trade your wares. It's really cool, and usually there's a big battle every year in the spring.”

“I see,” Castiel says, “It sounds fascinating.”

“Okay, Spock. It is, though.”

He laughs, “I understood that reference.”

***

“' _Let me help_ ,'” Captain Kirk says on screen, pointing up at a far-off constellation, “ _A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classing using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over “I love you”_.”

Captain Kirk is speaking to his friend Edith Keeler, a bleeding heart socialist running a flophouse in the 1920s. She is bright, and brilliant, and slated to die by the end of the episode. Captain Kirk is torn up by the revelation. Castiel doesn't blame him.

“Mon dieu,” He says when the episode ends. His heart hurts.

“I know, right? It's one'a my favorite episodes.”

Castiel hums in acknowledgement, “I can see why.”

Captain Kirk's line, _let me help,_ rings in Castiel's ears when Sam calls them into the living room a little while later. When they go out, Sam has pushed the TV away from the corner, and in its place is a small Christmas tree.

“Can you help me decorate?” Sam asks. He kicks a cardboard box in their direction. Dean looks at Castiel and shrugs.

“Sure,” He says.

“Of course,” says Castiel.

Inside the box is a bunch of ornaments, all wrapped in tissues and plastic baggies. Most of them are homemade. Castiel unwraps a star made of popsicle sticks and glitter glue. Dean puts on Christmas music, and insists on singing along to every one. Cas suspects it has more to do with how red Sam becomes rather than Dean's Christmas cheer, but he has a nice voice, so Castiel doesn't mind.

A little while later, Sam is making his way over to the tree when he trips on a wrinkle in the rug and smashes his mug. Cocoa splatters all over the floor and Sam's jeans. Castiel goes to grab a thing of paper towels while he hobbles off to get changed. When Cas comes back into the living room, several things happen at once: an orange cat jumps out from behind the tree and latches onto Dean's leg; Dean jumps back, slips on the hot cocoa mess, and lands hard on the floor. The cat yells and scampers away, knocking a few more things over in the process. Castiel watches the small, white thing Dean was holding arc into the air.

When it lands, the tree bursts into flames.

“Fuck!” Dean shouts.

Castiel dives after him, half-dragging him into the safety of the kitchen.

“What the hell?!” Sam bursts out of his room with his pants unbuttoned. He runs and grabs the fire extinguisher, blasting it at the tree. White foam erupts out, covering the whole tree and half of the wall behind it. The flames die quickly, and the tree falls over under the weight.

“What happened?” Sam yells, “What the fuck happened?!”

“Nothing, Sammy,” Dean laughs nervously.

“Nothing? Does this looks like nothing to you?!”

Dean puts his hands up, but Sam's not having it.

“Were you smoking in the house?”

He glances away. “Well, your fucking cat attacked me! I was just standing here!”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?”

“Yes! Yes it is! If you left him in your room like Dad said--”

“Shut up! Shut up! It's always Dad this and Dad that! Dad's not fucking here, Dean! You wanna know why? Because he sucks!”

“Hey! Show him some respect!”

“Why should I?!”

It's now that Castiel steps in. He puts himself physically in between them, overtop the hot cocoa and smashed ornament pieces.

“Dean, Sam,” Castiel says, “I think we should take some time to cool off.”

Sam, breathing hard, snorts and looks away. Dean does the same.

“Dean,” Castiel says, looking Dean in the eyes, “Let's go on a walk. Sam, you can stay here. Don't worry about cleaning yet.”

“I wasn't gonna,” Sam mutters.

“Good.”

Dean grumbles, too, but he goes and puts his shoes on.

Outside, the snow has started to come down in earnest. Cas' face gets cold as soon as he steps outside. Dean's ears and cheeks are turning pink by the end of the driveway, but he doesn't say anything about it. They walk around for a few minutes, Dean huffing every once in a while. He jams his hands into his pockets. He scuffs his feet, occasionally kicking loose rock down the street. Castiel walks beside him, his arms at his sides. The lights on a nearby house flip from red to blue to green.

“Dean...” He starts, not sure what to say.

“You know that wasn't my fault, right?” Dean snaps.

“Um.”

“Sam needs to keep the fucking cat in his room. That's what Dad said! And you saw it, the little devil jumped out at me!” He huffs again, and a cloud of air poofs out in front of him.

“Well--” Castiel starts.

“Sam just doesn't listen to a damn thing Dad says. It's like he doesn't care!”

“Hang on, that's not fair, Dean.”

Dean stares at him, bug-eyed.

“That's not fair,” Castiel repeats, “What are Sam's reasons for letting the cat out?”

He rolls his eyes and starts walking again.

“Dean.”

“Fine.” He glances over at Castiel but keeps moving, “He says... He says the cat hates being cooped up. But that's not the point! He just needs to listen! He has no idea how hard Dad works. What he – what he and Mom do for him.”

Oh? This is new. “I thought your mother had passed away?” He tilts his head to the side.

“She did. But...” He looks away.

“But?”

Dean huffs.

“Look, Sam just... Doesn't respect anything they do.”

“What do you mean?”

He stop walking again. He looks down and wipes snow out of his eyes.

When Castiel catches up, he reaches out and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. His friend startles.

“Dean?”

He sighs, hanging his head. “We get...social security checks. Once a month. Life insurance stuff, ya know?” He doesn't look at Cas, “The past few weeks have been rough. I had to work doubles at the Roadhouse 'cause Dad was late on the electricity bill. And then Sam says he's having trouble seeing the board in class, right? So I'm freaking out a little bit. But, lo and behold, a few days later Mom's check comes in, and it's just about enough to cover Sam's glasses.

“So, like, Mom helped pay for them, and I can't even tell him, you know?”

Castiel pauses for a moment. How can Dean be missing something so obviously? “Dean.”

“What?”

“Have you considered that you're the one who's doing all these things for Sam?”

He's quiet for a long time. Snow catches on his eyelashes and in his hair. He looks at a point somewhere past Castiel.

“Things were... Better when we were little,” He says eventually. Castiel inches closer so he can hear better. “Before Mom died. We did stuff as a family, you know? Dad included. Family dinner and beach trips and all that shit. And it was... happy, I guess. Sam was too little to remember, I think. And then she died, and dad like...” He hesitates, “I dunno. Nevermind, it's stupid.” He turns red.

“It's not stupid, Dean.”

“Jesus,” Dean snorts, “Fine. Okay. Dad just, like, shut down. And I thought, like... if I could make it easier for him, for Dad I mean, then he would, you know, get better. So he could start being our dad again.”

His confession hangs in the air. He shifts back and forth on his feet, biting his lip and watching for Castiel's reaction.

“Oh, Dean,” He says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

Castiel looks at him, really looks: the way he's speared his hands into his pockets, the worn-out knee of his jeans, the shine of his eyes threatening to spill over. “You shouldn't have to bear that burden, my friend. You have no control over what your father does.”

“I –“ Dean pauses. He swallows, and flashes a smile. “It's fine. Really.”

“No it isn't.”

His smile drops. “Well, I don't see any alternatives, do you?”

“There are always alternatives.”

“Yeah, sure,” He shrugs.

“I mean it. What do you want to do?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“What do I want to do about what?”

Castiel fights the urge to roll his eyes, “Let's start with the cat. If your dad had no say in what you did, what would you do?”

He shifts from foot to foot. “Um. Well, Sam thinks--”

“No, Dean. What do _you_ want?”

He pauses. A truck rattles by somewhere behind them. “I want...” He drops his voice to a whisper, like he's afraid of being overheard, “I wanna keep it.”

“And?” Castiel challenges, leaning in.

“And... Let it go wherever it wants in the house. Aside from my room.”

“And?”

“And... And fuck, I dunno. Sing it lullubies or some shit.”

Castiel smiles, “Well, Dean, there's your alternative.”

Slowly, as if he's at war with himself, Dean nods. “Okay,” He says, “Yeah. Okay. Okay.”

They stay out in the cold a little while longer. Castiel puts his hands in his pockets when he can no longer feel his fingers.

“Guess I should apologize, huh?” Dean says when they're a couple streets away from his house. He rubs his hands together and blows on them.

“What for?”

“To Sam, I mean. For ruining Christmas.”

“Ah. I don't think you ruined Christmas.”

“Not yet, anyway.” He pauses, “Hey, uh, do you mind if I smoke? He hates when I do it in the house.”

“Isn't that how this started?”

“That's debatable.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Fine with me.”

Dean takes a cigarette from behind his ear and puts it between his lips. He taps his pockets and makes a face, “Damn.”

“Hm?”

“No lighter.”

“Ah.” Castiel fishes around in his own pocket, “Here.”

Dean gestures to the cigarette, “D'you mind?”

“Not at all.” He leans in. It takes a few flicks, but the cigarette lights.

Dean closes his eyes, relishing his first couple drags. When he opens them, he looks at Castiel with one eyebrow raised, “You smoke?”

Castiel looks away, his face growing warm, “I haven't in a while.”

“That's not a no.” A slow smile spreads across Dean's face, “Isn't that like, really bad for someone like you?”

As if on cue, Castiel coughs. “Um, yes.”

“Damn. How'd you get started, then?”

He's quiet for a moment. “Another time,” He says.

Dean takes a drag, “Alright.”

Castiel watches the smoke curl away from Dean's mouth.

“It has been a long time.”

He holds the cigarette out, “Uh, I might go to hell for this, but do you want some?”

He hesitates for a second before taking it. “I should be fine,” He says, more to himself than to Dean. He holds the cigarette between his middle and ring fingers, and gets all of two drags in before his lungs start throwing a fit and he has to hand it back.

Dean laughs, his breath puffing out like smoke in front of him. “Does that count as instant karma?”

“Probably,” He shrugs.

Dean laughs again.

***

It turns out Castiel isn't fine. He's in the middle of moving one of the ornament boxes onto the coffee table when a deep pain slams him in the ribs. He fumbles forward, the box just barely stopping him from crashing into the table.

Immediately, Dean's hands are on his shoulder. “Woah, Cas, you alright?”

He coughs and the pain kicks against his sternum.

“Merde,” He mumbles, coughing. Dean guides him backwards until he falls back onto the couch.

“That's it, man, deep breaths, just like that.”

He lies back. He closes his eyes and watches the lights burst behind his eyelids. Dean's warm hands leave him for a minute, and when they come back they come around the back of Castiel's head, lifting it up. Oh, a pillow. He melts into it.

“There ya go. Can you talk?”

He tries, but all that comes out is a groan.

“Okay. Uh, groan once for yes, twice for no. Do you want the light off?”

He groans once.

“Okay. Do you need to sleep?”

He groans once.

“Do you want me to shut up?”

He chuckles, coughs, and groans twice.

“Alright, thanks for that. I'm gonna, uh, let you sleep.”

He makes a noise one last time, and hopes it sounds like Thank you, Dean, before promptly passing out.

***

Everything comes back into focus slowly, wavering like his head is underwater. The house is quiet save for the TV left on low volume. The lights are off and it smells like ash. He is thankful for the dark, keeping the beginnings of a headache away. He shuffles up to a sitting position.

“Dean?” He whispers. His throat hurts. There's a glass of water condensating on the coffee table, next to the crushed box of ornaments. When he reaches over, he realizes that what he thought was a pillow is in fact a balled up sweatshirt. How nice.

“Oh, hey, Cas, you're awake,” Sam says.

He coughs. “I am.”

Sam puts down the box he's holding, “Dean had to go pick something up from Bobby's. How're you?”

He takes a sip of his water, “Urgh.”

Sam chuckles, “Yeah, I know what you mean. Do you, uh, want some cold medicine? We should have some.”

“No thank you,” Castiel waves him off.

Sam fidgets, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Oh, great. Castiel closes his eyes to avoid rolling them, “How are you, Sam?”

“I'm okay. Dean actually apologized, if you can believe it.”

He feigns surprise and raises his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“Yeah. He never does that. I dunno what magic words you said to him, but it worked.”

He flushes and coughs again.

Sam rocks back on his feet. “Do you need anything?”

“No, Sam, thank you.”

He fidgets a little more. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” He snaps.

Sam frowns. Castiel tries not to feel bad. He goes back to sipping his water, trying not to let his annoyance show.

Sam leaves, eventually.

He drifts in and out of sleep, and is woken by the front door slamming shut.

“Honey, I'm home!” Dean calls.

From another room, Sam shushes and tells Dean Cas is still sleeping.

“I am awake,” Castiel corrects. His headache is all but gone, thankfully, “No need for that.”

Dean comes into the living room, tossing his jacket over the back of the couch. He pats Castiel's foot, which is sticking out from the blanket.

“Hey, man.”

“Hello.”

“How are ya?”

He surveys: a ball of pressure is sitting behind his ribs, pushing its feet against his sternum. His throat is dry, and his hands are cold. “Better.”

“Good. Can you scooch over?” He gestures to Castiel's feet. It takes him a moment but he lifts his legs up and Dean shoves himself underneath them. Gingerly, Castiel puts his feet down on top of one of Dean's legs. Dean glances at him, lips quirking upward.

He turns his attention to the television. It's the beginning of _It's A Wonderful Life._

“You know Bobby Singer?” Dean asks after a few minutes of watching.

Castiel perks up, “Oh, yes. We used to go to the same church. He was one of the first disabled people I ever met.”

“Oh really? That's cool. He's a friend of the family. We call him Uncle Bobby, actually,” Dean says. He glances over again and smiles. “Oh, uh, he says hi.”  
“Tell him I say hello. What a small world,” Castiel muses. Bobby always hung back after church to talk with him and Adra. He thinks about how long it's been and flushes hot with shame. He misses Bobby.

Castiel sits up, moving his feet to the side of Dean's leg. He glances over but doesn't say anything. The light from the TV flickers off the side of his face. Dean makes wry comments about the movie every so often, and Castiel listens. It's nice, easy.

They decide to do presents in the morning. Most of them were saved from the fire, thankfully, but Castiel is too wiped to properly appreciate them. Instead, they make second dinner, and afterwards Sam wanders off. Dean and Castiel go back to Dean's room and talk for a while. Apparently Dean and Sam were born here, but their dad had trouble holding down a job after their mom died, so they moved around a lot for a few years. They moved back at the beginning of last year.

“I've moved around, too,” Castiel says. He is laying on Dean's bed, watching the snow fall upside-down through the window. Dean is laying beside him in the opposite direction, his arms behind his head and his feet up on the wall.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. The university my mother works for has a few international locations. We are welcome to stay on campus while my mother works. Since I was homeschooled for most of my youth, it wasn't an imposition to stay for a few weeks or months, as long as my health was good.”

Dean lets out a long whistle. “Well, that blows my second-largest ball of twine story out of the water.”

He flushes, “I did not mean to upset you.”

“I'm kidding, Cas. That's cool! Really. Where've you lived?”

“Greece most often. South Korea a couple of times. Italy, France, Switzerland.”

“Damn. Does that mean you know Greek?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” He swallows audibly, “Say something in Greek?”

Castiel gives him a look, “Like what?”

“Uh. Tell me a secret.”

“But you will not understand it.”

“Yeah, so it'll still be a secret.”

He furrows his eyebrows, “You're very strange.”

“Yeah? Says you.”

He laughs. “Fine. Give me a second.” He clears his throat, “Um. [μου αρέσεις πολύ](%20).”

Dean nods, “Huh. Cool.”

“Very strange,” Cas repeats.

“Thanks.”

After a beat of silence, Dean swings his leg over and rolls into a standing position. This leaves Castiel with a direct view of Dean's ass in his jeans. Castiel forces himself to look at the ceiling, but he steals a glance a couple times.

After a moment of searching, Dean 'aha's and pulls out a small paper bag. “So,” He says, turning back to Castiel, who lets himself look again, “I know we weren't gonna do presents til tomorrow, but I kinda don't wanna wait for this one.”

At that Castiel perks up, and wriggles himself into a sitting position. He coughs a couple times. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Uh, here.” He shoves the bag in his direction.

Whatever's inside isn't wrapped, just covered in a sheet of old newspaper. Castiel shakes out the bag, and into his lap falls a small black journal and a couple blue pens. A few photos fall out as well. Castiel inspects each one: Dean sitting on the bench outside the Roadhouse, his arm around Sam. The high school friend group a couple weeks ago – Dean, Castiel, Jo, and Ash, all squished onto the dirty green couch in Ash's basement. A bong is visible in the background, next to an open package of edibles. The last photo is Dean and Castiel from the same night, smiling together. Castiel's face is flushed. Something went wrong with the camera so it looks like there are several sets of Dean and Cas all lined up on top of one another. Castiel is going to keep that one somewhere very special.

He looks up at where Dean is biting his lip in anticipation.

“Thank you, Dean. I love it.”

Dean positively beams. Oh, Castiel wants to reach out and touch his smile so bad his hand twitches. Dean glances down at the movement. 

“Um.” Castiel says, “I am afraid your gift is less impressive.”

He shrugs, “Whatever, man.” He hesitates, like he wants to say something else.

When he doesn't, Castiel jumps in and thanks him again.

“Yeah, dude, of course. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

They stand like that for a moment, smiling at each other. It's a merry Christmas, indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for fantasy/LARPing violence

“Honey, I'm ho-oome!” Dean shouts, flinging his duffle bag into the corner. He is promptly bowled over by a Saint Bernard, who proceeds to kiss his face all over with her huge, wet tongue.

“Leia! Leia! Bad dog!” Charlie shouts, grabbing her collar and heaving her backwards. “Go upstairs. Mooom!”

Mrs. Bradbury wheels herself in from the kitchen. She's a proud woman, stout, with her long red hair clipped back to show off her dangly earrings and the long scar that runs from her cheekbone to just behind her ear. “Leia! Let's go outside! C'mon girl!”

Princess Leia bounds over to her, tail wagging, and lets out a tremendous bark. Mrs. Bradbury waves at Dean and takes the dog out the back door.

Charlie offers him a hand.

“Well, that's one hell of a welcome,” He says, wiping off his face.

“She missed you as much as I did.” Charlie grins.

They hug. Dean squeezes, just a little.

“How was the drive?”

“It was alright, there was a ton of traffic on 35. Oh, and a semi was on fire.”

“A semi truck?!” Her eyes go wide.

“The very same.” He nods.

She shakes her head, “Fuckin' wild.”

“Is that a bad omen? I feel like that's a bad omen.”

“Hm, I dunno. I'll ask Dad.”

“Good plan.”

Charlie helps him lug his stuff up to her room. She still has a bunk bed, although the bottom bunk has been removed so it's really just a loft. Her room is bright in a literal sense: the walls are a creamy yellow and she's hung string lights up all around where the wall meets the ceiling. She has fewer decorations than Dean, but enough that anyone could reasonably guess her book taste, favorite Buffy character, and sexuality when they walk in. There's soft indie music playing at a low volume.

Charlie drops his bag and turns on him.

“Aaah,” She squees, bouncing up and down, “You're here!” She hugs him again and his heart melts.

“I'm here.” He smiles softly.

She pulls back a little and frowns, “I wasn't sure if you were gonna be able to make it.”

He shakes his head, “Me neither. Imagine my surprise when on my birthday, Jo pulls out an envelope full of cash they'd all been saving for the last three months. Those bastards.” His grin could split his face in half.

She raises her eyebrows, “Oh, Cas too?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

“Hm,” She muses, “He seems dreamy.”

“Oh? What about that nice young lady you were telling me about? G--”

“Shhh!” Charlie shushes, glancing at the open bedroom door. She creeps over and closes it, whispering, “Shhh. I haven't told them we're dating yet.”

“Oh,” Dean whispers, “What's her name, again? Glinda?”

“Gilda.” She can barely get her girlfriend's name out before she breaks into a smile, “She's a fairy from the Montressor realm. A fairy, Dean! Bestill my heart!" She puts a hand to her chest and sighs.

He chuckles. “Good. Will I get to meet her?”

“Yes! She's gonna be at the tournament, and we're going out for lunch after.”

“Sweet. Crossroads Diner?”

“You know it.”

Charlie smiles to herself for a minute, “She's just... So cool, you know? Like, I just really like her as a person, too.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

There's a soft knock at the door to announce someone's presence before the person lets themself in.

“Dean-o!” Mr. Bradbury says, opening his arms wide. He has a long ginger beard that would reminded Dean of a dwarf if it weren't for how Mr. Bradbury towers over him. Dean lets himself be hugged tight and quick. “Good to see you, boy! How's Sam?”

“Good, good. He's in 8th now and he's got himself a girlfriend.”

“Oh! He's growing up into a fine young lad, isn't he?”

“He sure is.” Dean grins.

“Ugh,” Charlie says, trying to half-heartedly push him out of the room, “Enough dad talk. Go... make us snacks or something!”

Mr. Bradbury fixes his daughter with a glare over his glasses.

“Um. Please?” Charlie adds quickly.

Her dad laughs and let himself be pushed out.

They unpack Dean's armor and set it out on Charlie's desk, play a round a Bad Fic Bingo, and shoot as many eye-roll-inducing puns back and forth as they can before Mrs. B calls them down for dinner. Dean's stomach growls on the way down, loud enough that Princess Leia stares at him, tilting her head.

He chuckles. “Cas does that.”

“Does what?”

“Tilt his head when he doesn't get something,” Dean shrugs, “Whatever. It just reminded me of him.”

“Ah,” Charlie says a little distantly, like she doesn't really get it.

Dinner is amazing: pulled pork sandwiches, sweet potato fries, and green beans that don't come from a can. Dean helps himself to seconds and then thirds while they catch up. Mrs. B's PT is doing miracles – she can serve the food and make her way from the kitchen to the dining room with just her cane. She's not able to go back to work full-time yet, but her boss has been flexible about her hours. Mr. B has been hosting Klingon poetry club on Thursday nights, and Charlie's trying to get a cosplay club going at her school.

“We need a teacher to oversee everything, though,” She explains while pouring herself more apple cider, “And all the teachers at my school are old and lame.”

“Ugh,” Dean rolls his eyes sympathetically, “I don't know how you survive.”

She shakes her head, “I don't either.”

Mrs. B asks him how he is, and Dean falters.

“Y'know, same old same old,” He says with a smile that feels more like a grimace. He tells them about Christmas and the almost-burning-the-house-down incident, albeit while playing up the funny bits.

“Wait, who's Castiel?” Mrs. B asks.

“Oh, uh. My new friend, the one I'm working on that English project with,” Dean says, feeling himself smiling around his words, “You'd like him, I think, he's wicked funny.” He goes on to tell them about the argument Castiel and Ash got into the other day about moose, which Castiel won by pulling out some moose encyclopedia as big as his head while Ash was trying to frantically Google a video he'd seen on his phone. While Dean talks, Mrs. B glances over to Charlie, who raises her eyebrows back and shrugs.

“Well, he sounds great,” Mrs. B says when Dean finishes.

Dean grins, “He is.”

“How's your dad?” Mr. B asks.

“Bobby? He's good, he's still trying to get tenure.”

They talk for a while longer and Mr. B brings out tiramisu for dessert.

After dinner, Princess Leia scratches at the door to be let out, so Charlie volunteers her and Dean to take her on a walk. The Bradbury's live in a real neighborhood with enormous two-story houses and street lights. Unlike home, where there are mountains of snow all piled up on every corner, San Antonio has clear streets without a flake of snow in sight, even if some of the houses still have their Christmas lights on. It's a little cool out, but in a refreshing way, not nippy.

“Roger Williams is great, but it's just so far, I don't think I could do that to Mom,” Charlie says, yanking back on Princess Leia's leash.

“I get that,” Dean muses, nodding, “Have you heard from anywhere else yet?”

“Not yet. I did apply for some scholarships too, and I'm still waiting on those.”

“Mm. You've got time.”

She looks over at him, “What do you wanna do? Have you even thought about it?”

He looks away, “You sound like my school counselor. Well, I'll tell you what I told him: there's no way I can afford to go to college right off, that's for sure. I'll probably go full-time at the Roadhouse, or Bobby's if Ellen won't let me. Otherwise, who knows.”

Charlie is quiet for a moment, looking down at her feet. “Mom could help you, if you wanted to apply anywhere. Y'know, I think our community college around here has a mechanics program.”

Dean chews his bottom lip, “Eh. Thanks Chuck, I'll think about it.”

Charlie looks at him, a frown pulling at one side of her mouth.

“I just don't wanna be too far from Sammy,” Dean admits, “He's starting high school next year.”

“Ahh,” Charlie says, nodding, “Right. That's fair, high school's tough. Um, well, think about it, will ya?”

“I will,” Dean promises.

When they reach the other end of the neighborhood, Princess Leia stops and sniffs a tree for a full minute before squatting down to pee.

“So, tell me about Castiel.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, “What's there to tell?”

Charlie looks at him like he's stupid, “Uh, when did you guys start dating?”

His blood goes cold. “What? We're not – No. I mean – No. What?”

Her face falls, “Oh, really? I thought – I mean, you talk about him a lot, dude, I just assumed. It's not like you make new friends all the time, either.”

“Hey!”

“Am I wrong?”

He huffs, “No. No, I mean... Cas is cool, like, really cool, but I mean he's never – We haven't--”

She puts her hands up, “Okay, sorry, dude.”

“No, no it's – it's fine.”

Charlie pulls Princess Leia along. Dean's heart pounds. Him and Castiel? No. I mean, they do spend a lot of time together, and Dean loves spending time with him, even on Cas' bad days where he's confined to the couch, or asleep for most of it. But like, Cas wouldn't want him like that, would he? He doesn't even know if Castiel likes guys.

“Hello? Earth to Dean?” Charlie says, waving a hand in his face. Dean blinks.

“Sorry,” He grimaces.

“You alright, space cadet?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Uh. Why did you... Think that, I guess, about me and Cas?” He pulls on the cord of his amulet.

“Oh, I mean... I dunno. You smile a lot when you talk about him, and I just got a vibe, ya know?”

“Mm,” Dean says. Huh.

They walk a couple more laps around the neighborhood. Charlie gripes about her dad being up her ass about her grades and Dean complains about Ellen trying to cut his hair. When they get back, Mrs. B is nose-deep in a book and Mr. B has Jeopardy reruns on low volume. They sit and watch for a while, until Dean lets out a loud yawn.

“You could wake the dead with that,” Charlie says.

“Are you prepared for a zombie apocalypse?”

“Hell yes I am.”

But Dean's eyes are starting to get heavy, so they head upstairs. Mr. B has set up the air mattress in Charlie's room, along with a pillow and a couple blankets.

“Don't trip on me in the middle of the night.”

“I won't.”

They take turns getting changed in the bathroom, and giggle together for a while after climbing into their respective beds. Dean's sheets are a little scratchy, but they're better than the ones at home.

He opens his phone to a dozen new messages, after not having checked it all afternoon. A few from Ellen, one from Jo, a few from Sam, and a few more from Castiel.

hey did u get in??

helloooo?

charlie told me u got in okay but u gotta text me dude

jerk.

yeah yeah im in fine, bitch, sorry

theres no snow here n the bradburys says hi

Hello, Dean. I hope your journey is going well. Be sure to stretch afterwards, I always find that helps me after not moving for a while.

Sam says he hasn't heard from you. I hope you're alright and have just forgotten to text.

Dean, it's getting late, are you alright?

Dean?

Dean, are you okay?

Dean?

ah shit sorry cas I didnt check my phone til now

yeah I got in great.

Castiel replies immediately.

Okay. Good.

yeah dude.

Um. How was the drive?

good. I like hittin the open road, it helps me clear my head and sam cant judge my singing

I see. Well, I hate to side with Sam on this one but your singing is... less than incredible.

rude

Sorry.

eh, w/e. how r u?

Fine. Adra and I played a couple games of chess today

nerds

Thank you. Hows your friend?

shes great. im meeting her gf tomorrow after the tournament

shes fucking stoked about gilda its so sweet

I see, that is exciting.

Dean buries himself in his blankets and turns away from Charlie so the brightness of his phone doesn't bother her. He starts to tell Castiel about what she said earlier about the two of them, but he stops. It feels wrong to joke about for some reason. So instead, he tells Cas about Princess Leia and how Mrs B uses her as a sled dog when she uses her wheelchair.

Thats hilarious.

Also, I apologize for earlier. I... thought something might've happened.

oh shit, sorry dude. im fine.

I'm relieved.

He rolls his head back far enough to pop a couple of his vertebrae that got stiff from the drive. He drums his fingers on the edge of his phone. Cas was worried about him?

uh, tmrws the tournament so im gonna be busy a lot, but i can like check my phone every few hrs if tht would help?

You don't have to do that.

dude its nbd

srry i worried u

... Thank you

yeah no problem

sam gets nervous when i dont text 2 so maybe thisll trick me into txting him too

Good idea.

Dean sends a couple photos from the day, including a selfie of both him and Charlie making a stupid face.

dont judge me

I will not

You look like you're having fun

i am

I'm glad you have such good friends

me too dude

hey im dead tired can i txt u after the trnmt?

Yes. Good night Dean.

night cas

Dean flips his phone over and squeezes his eyes shut. Damn it! Castiel is his friend! His good friend! Sure, Dean wants to hang out with him all the time, that's what friends do. And he's done a literal spit-take because of Cas -- more than once! -- but that's because the guy is fucking hilarious when he's not even trying. And... the way Cas listens to him talk with his full attention, like he really thinks Dean is worth listening to, makes Dean share like they've known each other for years. In fact, he's pretty sure Castiel knows more shit about how he and Sam grew up than Jo, and she was there for a lot of it.

Huh. Maybe Charlie's onto something.

But Castiel-- attractive? He's easy on the eyes, yeah. He's got a nice jawline, and his blue hair is kinda hot, and the way he he purses his lips when he's concentrating has distracted Dean on more than one occasion. His lips are distracting in general; He's got a perfect cupid's bow that's never chapped, even in the middle of winter, which means they'd be soft if Dean kissed him.

Huh.

He's lean and gruff and surprisingly strong. Yet his hands are cold all the time, which Dean knows from passing notes back and forth in English, or from petting the cat at the same time, or once when a very sleepy Castiel carted a hand through Dean's hair when he passed him on the way to the bathroom.

As he's remembering, Dean is seized with the desire for Castiel to do it again, and to run his cold fingers down Dean's face, his back, his whole body.

Well, fuck.

Fucking shit fuck.

***

Dean is jostled awake at the ass-crack of dawn when Princess Leia lumbers in and sticks her paws on Dean's chest.

"Ouch, ow, gerroff," Dean grumbles, shoving her away.

"Good moooorning," Charlie says, flipping the light on. Princess Leia peers up and her and barks. "Good morning to you too, Princess!"

Princess Leia thumps her tail on the floor. Mrs. B calls her and she bounds away.

"Ugh," Dean groans, falling back on his pillow.

Charlie hops down and stretches, revealing her tummy enough that Dean can reach over and pap her on the bellybutton.

"Hey!" She swats him. He laughs.

"Tournament day," He says, his face hurting from how hard he's smiling.

"Yesss!" She puffs out her chest, "For Moondoor!"

"For Moondoor!"

Mr. B makes them veggie omelettes and Dean has his with extra bacon. After that, Dean showers and uses Charlie's nice-smelling body wash. He belts Asia until she bangs on the door to tell him to shut up. He laughs.

Charlie helps him fix some nicks in the paint on his armor, and he sews a hole on her shoulderpad. Mr. B offers to drive them, but Dean waves him off.

"It's no fun if your dad drives you," He argues.

Mr. B shrugs, "Fair enough."

Mrs. B reminds them to have fun and do their best.

"We'll knock 'em dead," He agrees. He and Charlie fistbump.

Dean drives, blasting music the whole way. Charlie practices her Serious Princessing Face in the mirror. Every so often they'll look at each other and erupt into giggles.

Halfway to the park, he asks, "So who all is gonna be there again?"

"Uhh, us, the Montressor fairies, the Shadow Goblins, aaand, um. That other human kingdom. Whatsername."

"Yesteryear?"

"Yeah, them."

Shit. The Warriors of Yesteryear were good, enough that Moondoor almost lost to them last year. And last time the goblins were involved, it was a bloodbath until Monstressor and her elf allies swooped in. Shit. Moondoor hasn't been able to gain the favor of the fairfolk since. Dean swallows, tightening his grip on the wheel.

When they get to the park, Moondoor has already set up their tents. They leave their bags in the purses-and-coats tent nearest the entrance. Charlie scampers off to convene with the Knights of the Small Table, so Dean makes smalltalk with criminal justice student by day, elf by night Victor Henrickson.

"Hey, man, it's been a while, how are ya?"

Victor nods at him, busying adjusting the potions hanging off his belt.

"Hey man, it has been. I've been good, I've been good. My girlfriend and I are looking for a place, actually."

"No shit? How is she?"

"She's good, stuck taking care of her Gramma today; Gram slipped broke her wrist a couple weeks ago."

"No!" Dean says.

Victor nods, "Mhmm. She insisted I still show up, though, God love her. How've you been? How's Sam?"

Dean shrugs, "Ya know, same old same old. Sam's growing like a weed, almost like I keep feedin' him or somethin'."

Victor laughs, "I hear ya. My sister's turning eleven next month, it's crazy."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

Charlie flaps into the tent and grabs Dean's arm, "There you are, it's time for your speech! Oh, hey Victor."

"Hey Charlie," He says.

Dean nods at him and follows Charlie out.

***

"They may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!" Dean shouts, and cheers erupt across the lawn. They have about thirty knights this year, a handful more than the last couple years. A few of them are elves, and there's a vampire in the mix, or so he's heard. He feels better about their odds.

A cannon goes off in the distance, and Dean only has a few seconds to grab his sword.

The goblins race across the field, weapons drawn. Dean looks to Charlie, lets out a cheer, and starts running. His kingdom follows behind.

The clash is epic. Dean dodges three hackeysack spells, and lands a hit on a big goblin with grey facepaint. Someone behind him tosses an "Ice blast!" that leaves the goblin frozen for thirty seconds. He uses that time to snag the spell pouches from the goblins belt and knock him backwards.

Thunk! Something hollow whacks Dean on the back and he goes down. Shit, that's 10 HP easily. He scrambles to pick up the spell packets he missed, but the goblin in front of him is unfrozen, and starts smacking him with his club.

30, 40, 50. Fuck. He needs to think fast. He thrusts his hands out, grabs the goblin's ankles and tugs, so the goblin goes down, hard on his ass. Dean rolls over and springs up, sprinting to the trees.

Panting, Dean leans on a tree and watches the battle. Fuck. Maybe their odds aren't as good as he thought.

A couple Moondoor knights are tag-teaming one of the big goblins, shooting her with Nerf arrows from halfway across the field. She puts up a good fight, and gets one of the knights with an impressive double-spell sack combo, but she goes down soon after. With a sigh, she tears out her red handkerchief and hobbles off to the Goblin's infirmary tent.

A twig snaps behind him.

He whips around, spell sack slotted into his slingshot. Out of the forest steps a woman about his age in a long purple dress, with shimmery translucent wings stuck on her back. A fairy!

She puts her hands up. He lowers his slingshot, but only just.

"Sir Dean," She says. She has a bit of an accent, though Dean can't place where from. "It is I, Madam Gilda of Montressor. I've come to help you."

His eyes widen, "Madam Gilda? Could you be the famous, uh, ally of our very own Princess Charlie?"

Gilda smiles and looks away, the sparkly scrunchie in her hair glittering. "Yes, sir."

He bows deeply, and she grins. He starts to say something, but her eyes go wide, "Get down!" She shouts. He drops, but not fast enough-- a sticky thwack tells him he's been hit with a Nerf arrow. Thwack, another. Shit. Shit.

It's over.

Gilda managed to dive behind a tree to avoid getting hit. When the slew of arrows stops, she creeps out and drags Dean back with her.

He pulls his red handkerchief out from his belt. She frowns.

"Hang on, are you actually out?" She tugs the arrows off him with a little pop.

He scowls, "Yeah. Shit, it's been what, ten minutes?" He glances back at the battlefield, "Jesus."

Gilda grimaces. "Yeesh. Well, uh, nice to meet you anyway?"

He smiles, "You, too. Remind me what you do?"

She pulls out a blue flag and sticks it in the ground behind her, the sign for "we've paused our LARPing for a second please don't throw things at us."

"I'm a day student at USTC, I'm studying art history."

He nods, "Cool, cool. My brother's girlfriend is big into art. She likes Monet? Manet? One of those. Anyway, Charlie's said good things about you."

She blushes and buries her face in her hands, "She has?"

He laughs, "Yeah, dude. She's crazy about you."

She buries her face harder.

Dean smiles. Gilda's pretty, with light brown skin and long, dark curls. He totally gets it.

While they're talking, a couple fairies and a dark ranger stomp past. He can hear someone on the battlefield shout in frustration.

Gilda looks up.

"We should go," He suggests.

She nods, "I will go find Charlie. You head to the infirmary tent."

He goes, waving the handkerchief as he hobbles off.

Half a dozen other knights and a fairy are already in the tent when Dean goes in. But there's enough room for him, so he throws himself down on the cot in the corner and waits for one of the nurses to come around.

While he waits, he fishes his phone out.

Hi Deano. Can you guys swing by the HEB on your way home? We need chicken

whyd we let you go away?? dads being such a dick

Good morning Dean. I hope your tournament is going well.

I came across a pair of squirrels in the garden today. My guess is they are hibernating somewhere. One of them was collecting needles from the evergreen.

How do you do Moondoor? I know you've explained it but the whole concept is confusing.

Before Dean can reply, a nurse comes by and takes his temperature.

"How bad is it, doc?" He asks, feigning worry.

"Fingers crossed," the girl says.

She pulls up his tunic and touches a spot with cold fingers. He hisses.

"Mm, you've got some bruises. Yeesh, did they use a two by four?"

He grimaces as he pulls his shirt back down, "Someone pissed in their cheerios for sure."

"I'll say." She gives him a small smile. She's cute, pale with dark hair. She pats his arm, "Well, nothing's broken, so that's good, just be careful when you lie down for a couple days. Ice it if it hurts.”

Dean salutes, "Aye aye."

The nurse laughs and walks away.

More people come in the longer Dean sits there. Eventually, the nurses have to usher everyone who isn't actually bedridden out, so the dead knights wind up huddled around the purses-and-coats tent.

Victor shows up fifteen minutes after Dean, clutching one arm and limping a little.

Dean rushes over, "Shit, what happened?"

Victor grimaces, "Ambushed. I tried to play sniper and, well, the sniper played me. I fell out of that big oak tree by the gazebo."

He winces. That tree he's talking about is as tall as a house, and even the lowest branches are at Dean's head height. Shit. Dean trails behind Victor and opens the infirmary curtain for him. "They're fucking brutal this year." He shakes his head.

Victor huffs, "You said it." A nurse grabs him right away, leaving Dean milling awkwardly in the doorway.

He chats with the other dead for a bit while Victor gets patched up: a tax accountant and her young son, a high schooler and his group of friends, and a tall guy with a beard and a thick Louisiana accent.

Dean finds himself stumbling over his words introducing himself to Benny, the Louisianan half-human half-vampire.

"How are you half-vampire?"

Benny shrugs, "Very carefully."

He laughs a little louder than is probably called for.

"I'm Dean," He says, holding out a hand. Benny takes it. His grip is strong.

"Pleasure to meet you, Dean."

Dean is warm all over.

Victor comes out a little while later and the three of them talk for a while. He sprained his wrist and he's gonna swing by an urgent care on the way home just to be safe. Benny offers to drive him and Victor accepts. Someone blows the Moondoor horn in three long bursts. The princess! Despite being dead, Dean sprints off in search of her. At least he can tell her he died.

After a few minutes of going the completely wrong direction, he finds her scowling near the Fairy Gate.

"Where have you been?" She demands, hands on her hips.

He waves the handkerchief he's tied around his wrist. "Ate it about five minutes in."

She purses her lips. "Shit. We've lost half our knights already. I'm trying to set up a meeting with the fair folk, but they won't let me passed the gate--" She gestures to the wooden mushrooms lined up in front of her, painted vibrant purples and reds; Some have angry faces on them. "I don't know how much longer Moondoor'll last."

"Fuck." He sighs, scrubbing a face with his hands.

They look at each other, and Charlie starts blinking fast. Dean swallows and looks away.

"Fuck,” She says again.

"You said it," He says, flashing her a smile and squeezing her arm. He sets his face and gives her his best knightly look of determination, "C'mon, go show the fair folk what's what."

She grins, wiping her eyes. "Hell yes I will."

***

Dean slinks into the diner, which is bustling with people, all cheery and laughing. He scowls. The hostess eyes them but says nothing, and shows them to their usual booth, three from the corner on the right side.

"I just can't believe it," Charlie says, slumping forward in her seat. Gilda puts a hand on her back. "I don't know where they got the manpower for that kind of assault."

Dean huffs, "I know. It's like someone recruited a whole football team." He sighs.

"Yeesh, who died?" Ruby says, dropping napkins and paper straws on their table. Her hair is bright red, almost the same color as Charlie's.

"Moondoor," Charlie moans, "We got sneak-attacked and lost all but three of our knights an hour in. It was disgusting."

"Yikes, that's brutal," Ruby grimaces, and smiles when she notices Dean.

He flashes a quick smile.

"Y'all want something to drink?"

"Uhh, root beer.”

Charlie orders orange soda and Gilda gets water.

"Be right back."

Later, Charlie says, "Legally, I think we require compensation in the form of ice cream. For our troubles."

"Definitely," Gilda agrees.

Ruby comes by and refills their waters.

"I like the hair," Dean says, because he does, even if the black looked better in his opinion.

"Thanks, I wanted somethin' a bit different. My sister used to dye her hair like this all the time."

"Cool, it looks good."

"Thanks. Speaking of, how's Sam?"

"Is everyone gonna ask me that? Geez, I'm starting to feel like you like him better than me," He groans.

She frowns, "Sorry, kiddo." She shrugs. No comment about liking Sam more, he notices.

"Ugh. He's fine."

They talk a while longer. Ruby's taking a class on the plague at the local community college, and her mom's finally getting off her case about quitting smoking. Gilda is vegetarian, she likes horror movies, and she and Charlie have been dating for a couple months.

Lunch isn't bad overall, considering the horrible spirits it started with.

When Dean drops Gilda at home, she and Charlie spend a truly disgusting amount of time hugging in the doorway before he honks at them. Charlie rolls her eyes.  
"You're just jealous," She says, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Yeah, right," He ruffles her hair and she swats him away.

The Bradbury's are waiting for them by the door when they get home, smiling at them. Mr. B hands them a plate of cupcakes.

"How'd it go?" He asks.

Dean's face falls. “Um."

He glances at Charlie, who is resolutely not looking at her parents. "It was bad," She says, shaking her head, "The goblins took Dean out in like, five minutes, and Gilda was the only fairy who actually wanted to help us."

Mr. B heaves a put-upon sigh. "Who's the leader of the fairies these days? Still Zach? Don't feel too bad, kiddo, we've been trying to whittle down his fairy-supremacy schtick for ages."

Charlie's shoulders start shaking, and then tears slip down her face.

"Oh, honey."

Mr. B rushes to put the cupcakes down while Mrs. B puts an arm around her daughter, balancing on a single crutch as she does, "Oh honey, hey, it's okay."

Dean's chest gets tight. He looks away when Charlie glances at him, her eyes red. When Mrs. B rubs her back, all the air has left Dean's lungs. He folds his arms over his chest.

"Hey, Cabbage, it's okay," Mr. B says, having returned from the kitchen. Charlie falls forward into her mother's chest and Mrs. strokes her hair. "Did you have fun and do your best?"

Mr. B looks at Dean and opens his arms. Dean takes a step back, his skin crawling. Mr. B's face falls.

The front door is open, leaving just the clear plexiglass door between Dean and outside.

He bolts.

Outside is cold and dark. Dean drinks in the nippy air like he's drowning. He practically runs down the driveway to where his baby is parked on the street.

"Dean? Dean!" Mr. B calls.

Dean wants to slap his hands over his ears. "Just a minute," He forces himself to say.

Mr. B is quiet for a moment and Dean hears the door squeak shut.

Fuck.

Dean stomps around the perimeter of the car, biting his fist. Fuck. Fuck!

He whips out his phone and puts it to his ear.

It rings, and rings, and--

"H'lo?" The voice sounds deep and scratchy.

"Hey. Uh, did I wake you?"

"Yes."

There's a beat of silence, "Sorry."

"It's fine," There's some shuffling, probably Castiel sitting up. "How's Anna?"

"Anna? Who the hell is Anna?"

Cas gasps, followed by a string of coughs.

"Apologies," He says once he's stopped, "Uh, Charlie, how is she?"

Dean fidgets with his zipper, "Uh. She's not great."

"Is something wrong?"

He hesitates. His throat is tight.

"Um. S-- sort of?"

Castiel clears his throat, his voice strong with worry. "What is it?"

Dean looks back at the house, the warm light spilling from the glass door. Mrs. B and Charlie have disappeared, but Mr. B is still there, hanging coats in the hall closet.

"It's stupid."

Cas huffs. "Dean."

Dean sighs, watching the frozen air luff out in front of him and wishing desperately that he had a cigarette. "Right, sorry. It just... We lost the tournament today. And I mean, that sucked in itself but then we got home and Charlie -- I mean, her parents --"

"Did they get mad at you?"

Dean pauses, looking down. His boots still have some mud of them. "No. No, no that's the stupid part. They gave us cupcakes."

"I don't see what the problem is."

"It --" He swallows. He paces the length of his car, "I don't want that mushy crap."

Castiel snorts. "You're upset because of the cupcakes?"

"What? No."

"Then what is it?"

His hand is getting cold, so he switches to his other one.

"It -- I don't know! I don't know,” He admits, feeling small, “I just feel like I can't breathe."

"Me neither."

It takes him a second to realize Cas is joking, "Yeah, good one. No, I... I don't know, man. Its not what my dad would do. It feels wrong."

"Dean," He says after a moment, "You're being an idiot."

"Uh, what?"

"Have you considered that John wouldn't do that because he's un connard? It's no wonder you're uncomfortable when someone shows you real human kindness."

He is stunned into silence for a long moment, "Um. Jesus, way to sugar-coat it."

He can almost hear Castiel shrug. "I apologize, I thought you didn't want the cupcakes."

He snorts. "The cupcakes aren't the problem, man."

"Mm, I know. ls there anything actually wrong with what they're doing, though?"

Dean wheels around. He can't see Mr B any more, but after a second Charlie passes by and gives him a wave. He swallows. His chest falls. "I-- No, I guess not."

"Well, then go back inside, you idiot. Consider telling them how you feel."

Despite himself, Dean laughs. "Yeah, sure."

"I mean it."

He shifts from foot to foot.

"Dean."

"Okay, okay. Thanks, Mom."

"I am not your mother."

He snorts, "Yeah, good thing, otherwise you'd have to call me Oedipus."

"What?"

"Never mind. I miss you.” It slips out before he can stop it.

Castiel pauses, then says, "I miss you, too. Now go back inside."

“I will. Um. Thanks, Cas.”

“Any time.”

***

"Wanna tell me what that was about?" Charlie asks, her hands on her hips. Dean swallows, heat creeping up his neck.

"Sorry. I--" He goes to make some quip, but what Castiel said rings in his ears. He clears his throat. "I... It's... hard sometimes. Being around all... all that. It's not like that at home, with my – with John."

Her face softens. He forces himself not to lean away when she reaches out and touches his cheek.

"Oh, dude."

After a second he does pull back and she reaches for his arm instead.

"I know how to fix this," She says. She has a glint in her eye that absolutely horrifies him. She grabs his arm tight and pulls him into the living room.

"Mom, Dad. Dean has disclosed to me that he doesn't get enough hugs at home."

"Oh no," He groans, trying to wriggle out of her grasp, but she's got him in a vice grip.

"You know what this means."

Mr. and Mrs, B look at each other, grinning, as Charlie flings herself forward, dragging Dean along with her. The Bradbury's smother him with their hugs, and Mrs B kisses the top of his head over and over. He wriggles for a moment, not really meaning it, before letting himself sink into their warmth.

Cas was right, it would seem. Dean is very grateful for the bastard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Discussions of food and calories, depression, and off-screen suicide of a minor character
> 
> For E. Miss you.

Castiel kneels down, careful to keep the cabbage in the ground as he inspects it. The plant is pale purple, bumpy, and roughly the size of his palm. He sighs.

"How is it?" Dean leans over and asks.

He considers not answers. But he huffs and says, "Not great. It should be twice this size by now."

"Damn."

Cas deposits the cabbage back into place, huffing. He will check on it again tomorrow after the fertilizer has settled, and then again next week. If it hasn't grown by then, well, he'll... He isn't sure what he'll do. Something.

For now, he turns around. Dean is smiling at him, his hands in his pockets.

"How'd your appointment go?" He asks.

Castiel stands and brushes the dirt off his knees. He makes his way over to the fountain as he talks.

"Annoying. Apparently I need five hundred more calories than I'm already getting if I want to keep up any semblance of strength, and she was concerned about how many times I've been sick this past year."

Dean frowns. "Really? Shit."

The fountain is a couple heads taller than him, with a naked cherub on top pouring water into the base, although right now it is pouring a block of ice into a larger block of ice.

Castiel runs a hand through his hair, "I know. She wants me to wash my hands as much as I can to avoid getting sick again. My food, too."

"Wash your food? And eat five hundred more calories?"

"Yes."

Dean lets out a whistle, "God damn. Have you tried microwave meals?"

He makes a face.

"Hey, it works for us."

"Does it, Dean?"

Dean doesn't say anything, turning red.

The ice in the fountain is bumpy, as if it were moving when it froze. He is seized with the urge to smash it with a hammer. "I just wish I had a choice," He says quietly. He turns around and Dean draws his hand back before it touches Cas' shoulder.

"I'm sorry, man.”

"It's not your fault."

Dean shrugs, "No, but, like, still."

There are bright pink petals trapped under an inch of fountain ice.

"It's... like being chained to a comet," He whispers. A cold blast of wind flaps his coat open and he shivers.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. I can do so much, and one day I might be yanked across the universe and I have no control over where I land."

Dean swallows, looking hard at him.

"Well, c'mon Rocketman, let's get inside. It's fucking cold out."

Inside, Dean starts opening the cabinets and the fridge, pulling out bread and cold cuts. "What do you want?"

"What are you--"

"Dude, you were just talking about how you need to eat more. Ham or turkey?"

Castiel tugs off his coat. "Um, ham." His face is warm.

Dean makes them sandwiches. He burns one, but he gives that one to himself and makes Castiel a second.

"Condiments?"

"Um. Mayonnaise, please, and um, grape jelly."

Dean blinks, a mixture of confused and repulsed, "Weirdo."

"Grape jelly and cheese is how they do it in some parts of France."

"Yeah, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"I would," He swallows. "I um, had a friend in France who taught me a lot about local cuisine."

"Oh?" Dean leans forward on his elbows, "He's not about yay high and orange, is he? Maybe a tail?"

"No, he's not your brother's cat. He was rather short though."

Dean looks him up and down, biting his lip on one side. Cas' heart pounds.

"You, uh, haven't mentioned him before."

He flushes, "We... lost touch."

"Ah."

Castiel swallows. He opens his mouth to say something and closes it.

Dean raises an eyebrow, "Whats up?"

He bites his lip and looks away, "I um, I would like to tell you about him. And some other old friends of mine."

Dean shifts his weight to one leg. "Okay, lay it on me."

He puts his sandwich down, "After we eat. I have photos upstairs to show you."

"Uh, sure thing."

Castiel's heart beats faster the smaller his sandwich becomes. When he's done, he leaves his plate in the sink and stares at it, his heart stuck in his throat.

"Hey man, we don't have to--"

"I want to."

"Alright,” Dean shrugs, gesturing up the stairs, “Lead the way, Rocketman."

Cas straightens his back. With a wave, he leads Dean up the stairs. He leaves his hand trailing a little behind him, until Dean takes his first two fingers and brushes them against his knuckle. Cas jumps. He looks back and Dean is bright red.

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

Castiel squints at him for a moment, feeling acutely like he's missed something just now. Merde.

***

Castiel sits gingerly on the bed, his hands in his lap.

"Give me a moment," He says.

“Sure thing.”

While Castiel catches his breath, Dean takes a look around. "Your room is so cool," he says, "I'd kill to have a loft like this."

"Thank you."

Dean picks up one of the figurines on his desk and bobs its paw, then he studies the charcoal drawing taped to the wall.

Castiel takes a breath, in, hold, and out. Riding a surge of bravery, he swoops down and pulls a cardboard box labelled "Castiel's Catacombs" out from under his bed. He gestures for Dean to have a seat, and he sits cross-legged across from him. In between them is the phrase 'Castiel was here' scratched into the floor.  
He pulls a couple photos out, printed on plain printer paper so they're wrinkled under the weight of the ink. Dean looks at him expectantly.

"I met Gabriel when I was ten..."

_Castiel trudges into the cafeteria, squinting at the harsh overhead lights. Everything is washed out and it smells like something got burnt 3 days ago and no one's bothered to clean it up. He tries not to make a face._

_"Go pick out a dessert, you deserve it," Adra nudges him towards the display case._

_He sniffles. The desserts do look good: there's a chocolate cake, a cannoli, and a couple kinds of cookies. When he reaches for the cake, someone shouts,_  
_“Mais non! Non non non!"_

_He turns and sees another boy about his age barreling over to him._

_"No!" The boy continues in French, grabbing Castiel's arm and shaking it, "I will literally kill you if you even think about eating that cake. No! We're going to the bakery down the way and I'm gonna teach the wonders of real dessert."_

_And with that, Gabriel had shoved his way into Castiel's life._

_He's Cas' age and has type 1 diabetes and and his brother is treating him to lunch after his appointment._

_Luke is tall and lanky, antithetical to Gabe's short and stout, but otherwise they have the same wheat-gold hair and square jaw. Castiel takes a look at Luke's dark band shirt and holey jeans, diagnoses him with teenager, and resolutely ignores him._

_The bakery Gabriel takes them to is small, with rickety metal tables out front so they can watch all the passersby as they eat. Gabriel makes him try no less than four different kinds of chocolate while they chat in the bastard lovechild of English and French. Gabriel also tries to teach Castiel French swears, until Adra looks over and fixes them with a glare._

_Gabriel goes to a school nearby and has gotten detention three times already, only a month into the school year._

_"S'not my fault the stupid teachers can't take a joke."_

_Castiel is pretty sure he said something other than "stupid" but he doesn't recognize the word, and Adra stares at him when he starts to ask._

_He swallows the question._

_Gabriel wiggles his eyebrows and Castiel bursts out laughing. He decides then and there that Gabriel is the coolest person he's ever met._

_They spend the afternoon talking, until Adra's stomach growls loud enough for Castiel to hear a table away. Castiel stares at his mother, wide-eyed._

_"Moms are supposed to embarrass you," Gabe assures him, pressing his splayed fingers into the table as he leans forward, "It's in the handbook."_

_Castiel stabs at the last bit of his cake and wonders if Adra has hidden this handbook in her piles and piles of other books back in the dorm. He bets he could find it if he looks hard enough, which he would like to do so he can cross that rule out._

_He tells this to Gabriel, who laughs like a communion bell._

_"You're weird, Casteel. I like you."_

_When they part, they trade email addresses and promise to stay in touch._

_***_

_Gabriel uses an even more bastardized frenglish in his emails, with a ton of slang and abbreviations that Castiel often stares at for a few minutes before looking up. He replies at odd hours too, way past Castiel's bedtime, so it takes them a couple weeks to coordinate a proper hang out._

_Castiel and Adra are living in one of the campus dorms under the stipulation that Castiel won't be rambunctious. The rule is stupid, Castiel thinks, considering how obnoxious most of his dorm mates are after dark. But because of this, when Gabriel comes over they hang out in the common area in midday when it's right deserted._

_After talking and a couple games of pool, Gabriel insists Castiel show him around, so he grabs his foldable cane and leaves his mother a note._

_"He's being such a dick," Gabriel complains on one of their many walks. Castiel had to look up that word when he used it in his prior email, and the image result gave Castiel a rather warm pull in his lower belly, before he had the good sense to be afraid of his mother walking by and closed the window. Of course, now he knows Gabriel isn't using the word literally. He hopes, at least._

_"I mean, I hate when Luke goes out too, but Dad doesn't know how to check my blood sugar so it was way off when I finally did it." He shoves his fingers in Castiel's face. His fingernails are picked short, and he has a half dozen papercuts on his first two fingers._

_"You should use a bandaid," Castiel says._

_Gabriel shrugs, "No point. I gotta do it every day anyway."_

_Castiel doesn't know what to make of that. It sounds sad, but it's probably no worse than his own scratchy throat on bad days._

_Castiel gets them into the cafeteria for lunch, and Gabriel makes a beeline for the dessert table, practically drooling._

_"Why do you like dessert so much?" Cas asks once._

_Gabriel shrugs, "Eh, the heart wants what it can't have and all that."_

_"But you can have some sugar."_

_"It's never enough, Casteel, never enough."_

_Huh. He thinks he gets it, like how he's hungry pretty much all the time, even after two burgers, crisps, and beans._

_Gabriel shows him how he checks his blood sugar, and Castiel tries not to squirm. Gabriel laughs and tries to shove a bloody finger up his nose. After lunch, they tear around in the quad. Castiel has a coughing fit while tackling Gabriel to the grass and has to go sit down. Gabriel chuckles at him._

_"I'd hate to be you," He says, tearing up grass and watching it flutter to the ground._

_"Thanks."_

_"I'm just sayin'."_

_He flops backward and flings an arm over his eyes. Castiel climbs down from the bench and joins him._

_They wind up hanging out a couple times a week, after that. Gabriel's schoolbus goes near the campus, so he'll take that route instead of going home. They run around enough that breathing gets a little easier for Castiel. They sneak into classrooms and leave thumbtacks on the chairs. They jump out at people from behind trashcans. One memorable time, Adra got off work early and they all had pizza together, Gabriel sitting on the desk and swinging his legs. Adra screamed when she saw the plastic spider on the pizza box, and Gabriel actually fell over laughing._

_Its the most fun Castiel's ever had. His French gets way better, and so does Gabriel's English, even if Castiel can't teach him any swears._

_Adra has this weird habit of inspecting Gabriel and asking questions whenever he comes by. Most of his answers start with Luke: "Luke would know" "Luke's taking me" "Luke came home late so we didn't have time." Luke is the one who usually picks him up, too, unless Gabriel takes the bus home. Castiel watches out of curiosity, wanting to glean more about the mysterious teen despite his first impression, but Luke just seems like a normal teenager to him. A little angrier, maybe, but he hasn't met enough teenagers to tell._

_One Thursday, a couple weeks before Castiel is slated to go back to the states, he boots up the computer and there's a message from Gabriel, sent at close to 2:30 that morning._

_'Dad kicked him out. I dont know where he went.'_

_There are a few more messages after that, riddled with typos. He figures out that Luke came home drunk as anything, and him and his dad got into a huge row. His dad told him to go to hell, and Luke stormed out._

_The last email from Gabriel ends with "shit hes coming". Sent at 5:22 am._

_And then, nothing._

_He shows Adra the emails, and Adra presses her mouth into a thin line. She calls the number Luke left and gets nothing. She calls 112 and yells at a man in rapid French._

_A wellness check turns up nothing out of the ordinary, according to the police officer. They won't give out Gabriel's address for Adra to go check herself._

_Castiel learns French swears that afternoon._

Castiel slides the photos over to Dean. They're grainy photos from a primitive desktop webcam: He and Gabriel are caught mid-laugh, with him doing bunny ears behind Gabriel's head; Castiel slipping off the chair and banging his knee; Gabriel helping him up.

"Wow," Dean says, touching the photos gently. "What happened after that?"

Castiel purses his lips, "I never heard from him again. Eventually his emails started bouncing. We stayed an extra week just in case, but... Eventually we had to go home."

Dean scrubs his face with one hand.

"Wow. It seems like you guys really got along."

He grins. "We did. He was my first real friend."

"Is there more?" Dean leans closer. Castiel nods and digs out a couple envelopes and an old flip phone.

Is he ready to tell this part of the story? Maybe not, but looking at Dean, lips pursed in attention, he knows he needs to. He wants Dean to know.

He takes a deep breath, feeling it down to the bottom of his lungs.

"A few years later, I met Anna..."

_The children's play area is the only place in the whole building with enough air flow that Castiel doesn't feel like he's suffocating when he walks in. It's also usually abandoned, so when he can Castiel curls himself up in an understuffed beanbag and falls right asleep._

_That's his plan today, which is dashed as soon as he walks in. Someone else is using the beanbags as a shield between herself and the glass nursery walls._

_Castiel nudges the red beanbag with his foot. "Hello?"_

_"Hello?" A feminine voice asks._

_"Hello." His own voice dropped over the summer, but it still cracks sometimes, which it does now. "Who are you?"_

_"I'm hiding." The voice answers, and grows quiet when someone walks by outside._

_"This is a stupid place to hide," Castiel says once the outsider is gone, "There's too much open space."_

_The voice sighs, and from behind the beanbags pops a girl around Castiel's age, gaunt, with hair dyed bright red._

_"I know. I was just hoping to, I dunno, make it harder for them."_

_He tilts his head._

_"Them?"_

_"My parents. I'm going home today, but it's all their fault I'm in here in the first place."_

_He crouches down so he's on eye level with her._

_"I see. I was here to take a nap, but if you want to sit together, you can tell them you were seeing a friend."_

_The girl looks at him for a moment. "Hm... Sure. But we have to actually be friends now. I'm Anna." She holds out her hand._

_He hesitates, but shakes. "Castiel."_

_Anna's parents have been going through a very loud divorce for the better part of two years, enough that somewhere around last November they stopped noticing Anna's grades starting to slip, or how she stopped going out on the weekends. What had sent Anna to the psych ward was her mother finding a carton of cigarettes under her bed and absolutely flipping her lid. She had called the hospital and told them Anna was planning on committing suicide._

_"That's ridiculous," Castiel says, injustice burning hot in his throat, although that also might've been bile._

_"Thank you! That's what I said, but they had to keep me for 24 hours, and I guess I said some other stuff I ought not've and they made me stay longer." She explains. She looks Castiel up and down, "You don't look like psych, what're you here for?"_

_"Appendectomy. They're keeping me for observation for a couple more days due to my CF."_

_"Fun."_

_"Thank you, it isn't."_

_Anna laughs. "I bet. You'd fit right in in Psych." She pats the adjacent beanbag, "Have a seat."_

_Castiel eyes her, not sure if he's just been insulted. Anna laughs again._

_A few minutes later, a very cross woman barges in. She and Anna bicker for a minute before Mom insists they get to leaving. Anna gives Castiel a rueful smile and they exchange numbers._

_"Wait," Castiel says, struck suddenly by a memory of Gabriel, "What's your last name?"_

_"Uh, Milton."_

"Wait--" Dean interrupts.

"What?"

"This might be a long shot but did she uh, did she have a sister?"

Castiel freezes. "... Yes. Her step-sister, um--"

"Ruby?"

"Yes, her.” He squints, “How did you--"

"I know her. Ruby, I mean. I just saw her, actually, when I went to see Charlie."

Cas raises his eyebrows, "Oh?”

"Yeah. Uh, she's cool." A beat of silence. "I dunno what Anna's up to these days, she's never mentioned it. Or, well-- maybe? I have a shit memory for stuff like that."

Castiel bites his lip. "I... am getting to that, actually."

He furrows his brow. "Oh. Um, okay. Continue."

"Thank you."

_Anna doesn't like to text much, so she and him wind up talking on the phone, sometimes for hours at a time. Anna likes to draw. She sends him some of her drawings in the mail, including a really nice charcoal of the church Castiel goes to. He mails her back pressed flowers. They're just annuals from Home Depot, but Anna loves them anyway._

_"That's so cool, Castiel. We don't have room for a garden here. Can I come by sometime?"_

_"Yes, definitely."_

_She's brilliant, and if every so often she says something very sad, well, he can deal with it, because that's what friends do._

_She comes by on a Saturday after Castiel's appointment and shows her through the garden. It's not much more than a wobbly stone path and a few different corners full of dirt, but he has chrysanthemum and geranium and a handful of edible plants that have survived for a couple months, so he's proud of it._

_"What kind of flowers do you want at your funeral?" Anna asks as she tosses acorns into the fountain. She laughs when they make it into the cherub's vase._

_"Roses," Castiel answers automatically._

_"You should plant some, then."_  
_There's a corner of the garden behind the edibles that Castiel still hasn't figure out what to do with. Maybe he should._

_“What about you?”_

_She makes a face, “I dunno. I find funeral flowers kinda creepy.” She turns away. "Jesus, listen to me. Maybe I am crazy."_

_Castiel looks at her back for a long time, unsure how to make the words come out. Her green jacket is wrinkled, and she's safety pinned a large patch to it that says "[Be Not Afraid](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e931239bf92180c05b76776ea4968cc4/ddcaf3c6aa87ae7f-20/s500x750/3ccf32ffb7cfd5371d0e31fd5c1ab8e721e9a5cc.jpg)" underneath a creature with several wings and as many eyes. He thinks she's the most amazing, most thoughtful person he knows. He just has no idea how to say it._

_“You're not," He says, finally._

_Anna looks back at him, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Yeah? Thanks, Castiel."_

_***_

_It seems like they'll never run out of things to talk about. She has new ideas for paintings every week and he fields her questions about it until she feels confident enough to actually put it to paper. Otherwise, they talk about books, about their parents, about God._

_“I... I don't know what I believe in, you know?” She says one day, swinging one leg over the edge of the fountain, the other tucked up against her body, “Mom talks with such conviction, and like... I want to believe like she does, Castiel, I just don't know if I'm cut out for it. I have too many questions.”_

_He takes a breath in, hold, out, and knows exactly what she means, “Questions like, why would I be born with such poumons d'la merde?”_

_“Piece of shit lungs?” She's in her third year of French class._

_“Oui.”_

_She laughs, and tucks her hair behind her ear, “Yeah, like that.” She looks off into middle distance for a minute, pensive, “I dunno, same reason I was born with a broken brain, I guess. If God's up there, he's just throwing darts at a cork board and hoping something sticks.”_

_***_

_They try to make a cake for Anna's birthday. Try being the operative word, since halfway through they realize the butter needs melted and they ran out of eggs that morning. They sub in peanut butter for the eggs, and Anna heats it on the stove so it spreads smoother, but she leaves it too high and they come in to a pot full of bubbling, black goo._

_The butter they already put in the mixing bowl, so they spend ten minutes hacking at it with spoons before deciding to just microwave the whole thing. It turns out as well as one would expect, which is to say it's a complete disaster. While taking the bowl out, Castiel drops it, exploding flour and hot butter all over them both._

_They stare at each other for a second before bursting out laughing._

_Adra comes by a few minutes later and when she asks what's wrong, they burst out laughing again, so hard that Anna actually cries. Adra helps them get cleaned up and they promise to never try anything like that ever again, ever. That night, and for several weeks following, all Anna has to do is mouth “peanut butter” to Castiel across the room, and he has a giggling fit so hard he chokes._

_They buy a cake from the grocery store in the morning. 'The infamous Gabriel', as Anna has taken to calling him, would not approve, but Castiel enjoys it anyway._

_***_

_She announces her move at the end of the school year. She's helping him heave bags of fresh dirt over to the shed, the sun sticky on their backs._

_"Moving? Where?" Castiel spits some junk into the grass._

_"San Antonio. Apparently Mom's got a whole boyfriend down there." She makes a face._

_"Merde." His wipes his brow. Anna's red hair dye is bleeding onto her neck. "When?"_

_"Next month."_

_"Putain!" He swears. He plops down on the bags of dirt and pats the spot next to him. Anna slumps down._

_"This sucks," She says, blowing hair out of her eyes. "I'll send you a cactus?"_

_He huffs a laugh through his nose but otherwise he's quiet. If he squints, he can see where they carved their names into the wall once they finished it. They've spent just about every weekend together for months now: she comes by on Friday after school and stays til Sunday. She's even visited him in the hospital, although it took some of Adra's convincing for him to even tell her where he was. She doesn't make fun of him for all his medications, or his cough, or how he can only manage nutritional shakes some day instead of meals._

_"I don't want you to leave." He whispers. He realizes the truth of it as soon as it leaves his mouth. "You're my best friend. I don't want you to go."_

_Anna is quiet as she leans over and rests her head on his shoulder. It's hot, but he can't find it in him to care._

_"Me neither," She says, squeezing his hand, "You're mine, too."_

_***_

_She does leave, of course, one hot July afternoon. She scribbles her new address on the back of an envelope and hands it over. She squeezes his first two knuckles with her thumb and forefinger. They hug. He pretends it's sweat dripping from their eyes when they finally part._

_***_

_Anna's busy for a few weeks following, so they don't have time for a phone call, but they do write. Her letters are pages and pages at first: how big the new house is, how Texas is hot but it's a dry heat, how she gets on surprisingly well with her new step-sister, who's a couple years older than her._

Ruby actually listens _, Anna writes,_ She went through something like this when she was my age, I guess, and she makes me feel... I dunno, human. Not like a monster.

_When they do get time for a phone call, Castiel is bouncing with anticipation. He stares at the clock until exactly 12:30 and dials. It rings, rings --_

_"Hello? Castiel?"_

_"Hello, Anna!"_

_They talk for a full two hours, until Castiel's throat is dry and his bladder is about to explode. She laughs when he tells her so._

_A couple weeks later she loses her phone privileges, something about fighting with her teachers, so Castiel is stuck calling the house phone and praying her mother doesn't answer instead. They schedule in a weekly phone call at 5 pm on Fridays, which helps._

_"I 'ant taste the soub," Castiel complains from his fetal position in the couch._

_"You have a cold, dude, what did you expect?"_

_"Better soub." He blows his nose and Anna tells him he sounds possessed. "Amb not."_

_"You are," She says with conviction, "The -- hey! Shut up!" Castiel has to hold the phone away from his ear. "Sorry. The neighbors are throwing a fucking party or something."_

_He leans in but only hears silence around Anna's voice._

_"I dob't hear anything?"_

_"No? Lucky."_

_"I dob't feel lucky."_

_"No? Go get some sleep!" She chuckles._

_He does._

_"How's school?" Castiel asks one Friday, looking over the mountain of homework spread over the lapdesk that the nurse gave him._

_"It's ... fine, y'know." She's quiet for a moment and he can hear someone making noise in the background. "Hey, look, I gotta go, my mom needs the phone."_

_They've only been talking for a few minutes. His heart sinks._

_"Um, okay. Will you call again next week?"_

_"Sure. Yeah. Talk to you later."_

_When the line goes dead, Castiel is left alone. His heart monitor beeps a little faster._

_Next week comes, Castiel goes home, and Anna's mom tells him she's not feeling well. His heart sinks again. Did he do something wrong?_

_Then, that night, Castiel gets a call that rips him from a dead sleep._

_"Anna?" He asks blearily, wiping the tirdness from his eyes._

_"Castiel? Oh thank God. I have to be careful, they've tapped the phones. They're after me."_

_"Your parents?"_

_"The angels! I don't know what I did to piss them off, but they're coming for me."_

_"Anna, what are--"_

_"Shit. Shit, they're here. Be safe. Bye, Castiel."_

_The line goes quiet._

_Castiel is left clutching his phone in the dark, alone._

_He doesn't hear from her for a week. He rings her every day, but it either goes to voicemail, or Ruby answers, apologizing, snapping her gum, and telling him to try again later. He doesn't sleep much that week._

_After almost two weeks, he gets a package addressed to him, with no sender. As he goes to open it, the phone rings with a San Antonio area code._

_"Castiel?"_

_"Anna," He breathes a sigh of relief. "Are you okay? What happened?"_

_She chuckles, "I'm good. I'm good, Castiel. Sorry about the other night. But I'm better now."_

_"I was worried. What happened?"_

_"Yeah, I'm sorry. Hey, did you get my package?"_

_He looks over to the box on the island. "Yes."_

_"Oh good. Don't open it yet! It's a surprise." He can hear the smile in her voice._

_"When can I?"_

_"Not yet! You'll know when."_

_There's a pause, and he clears his throat._

_"Anna, are you sure you're--"_

_"I'm fine, Castiel. Hey, I gotta go. I'm sorry, I love you." Her voice cracks on the last part, and she hangs up._

_Castiel stares at the blank phone screen. A dark feeling makes a home in his gut as he replays the conversation in his head, again and again._

_He calls her back. It rings twice and goes to voicemail. He swallows._

_He rings the Milton house. No one answers. Merde. He tries Anna's cell again._

_"Hey, you've reached Anna--"_

_He flips his phone shut._

_He has a voicemail when he looks at his phone again._

_"Castiel? This is Ruby. Have you heard from Anna? We haven't seen her all day."_

_His blood goes cold. He tries the Milton house once more._

_"H'lo?" Ruby sounds out of breath._

_"Where's Anna?" He asks, his heart in his throat._

_"I don't know."_

_"I just spoke with her."_

_"What? Did she say where she is?"_

_"No. It was not her normal number. It may have been a burner."_

_"Shit. Do you have it? What did she say?"_

_He gives it. "It was strange. She was... laughing?"_

_"What, like she was happy? That's... that's not like her at all."_

_"I know."_

_Silence, for a moment._

_"Putain," He swears._

_"Yeah, tell me about it. Alright, I'll call you if I hear anything."_

_"S'il vous plait."_

_He hangs up. Merde. Mince. Putain de merde._

_He calls his mother, who rushes home. Her hair sticks out of her braid at odd angles. She squeezes his hands and tells him its going to be alright. He doesn't know what to believe._

_Castiel paces. He makes moves on the chess board, then unmakes them. He sits in front of the toilet staring at the white basin for the better part of twenty minutes, but nothing comes up._

_It strikes him as spots Anna's package alone at the kitchen table: she sounded relieved._

_He doesn't hear anything the rest of the day. At close to midnight, he scrubs his eyes and Adra hands him a mug of coffee. Almost Friday. Just a few more minutes. Castiel's convinced that if he doesn't hear anything until Friday, it'll be okay. He takes a sip and burns his tongue. Almost Friday. Almost Friday._

_At 11:48 pm, the phone rings._

_"Allo?"_

_"Cas?" It's Ruby. Her voice is hollow._

_His heart sinks to his stomach._

_"We found her. She-- Cas, we're on the way to the hospital now, but-- Anna, she-- Castiel, she's not gonna make it."_

_He doesn't feel the mug slip from his hands and smash to the floor._

Castiel buries his face in his shaking hands. When he looks up, he's a million miles away. He loved her. He loved her so much he feels sick, the grief raw like new in his throat.

He startles when Dean puts an arm around him, but after a moment he sinks into the touch. "Um, what are you doing?" He asks into Dean's shirt.

Dean's voice is tight when he says, "Don't tell me you don't need it, dude."

He squeezes his eyes shut. He does. Dean is warm and Castiel can feel his heart thundering in his ribs. He wraps his arms around Dean and squeezes.

They stay like that for a long moment.

When they part, Dean wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Jesus, shit, “ He says, “I thought you were gonna have like, fun little anecdotes about your old friends."

Castiel grimaces. "Sorry."

"It-- it's okay, dude. It's fine."

Castiel picks up the envelope with shaking hands. It's a couple letters from Anna tucked in there together: the first one she sent, along with the funniest. There are a couple photos, too. One he's particularly fond of is him grinning closed-mouthed at the camera, with Anna beside him trying to bat the camera away. They're in front of the fountain and it's a clear, sunny day. Another one, he's not sure that she knew he took of her: she's sitting on the edge of the fountain, leaning back on one arm. It was warm, so she had her jacket rolled up to her elbows. She's resting her chin in one hand and looking at some far-off point with a hint of a smile on her mouth. She looks calm. The last photo is the laminated card from her funeral, a school picture. She was 15 years old.

"I think I woulda liked her," Dean muses, flipping through her letter.

"I think so too."

At the end of one letter, Dean looks up. "Were you and her like... dating?"

Castiel laughs and shakes his head. "My mother asked me the same thing, too, once. No, Dean, I'm gay."

Dean goes through about a dozen different facial expressions in the manner of a few seconds. "Oh."

Castiel stiffens. "Is that a problem?"

"What? No! No, not at all." He turns red. "No, I just... It-- it's. Good for you."

Castiel looks at him a moment, but Dean shakes his head.

"Uh, anyway, what's next?"

Castiel swallows and takes out the last few items: a blue rosary, a diner receipt, and a few photographs.

"Well," Castiel starts, "I was sixteen when I met Alfie..."

_Castiel plops down on the cold metal chair and waves at a couple of the people he recognizes. A lanky boy around his age sits across from him, wearing a Weenie Hut uniform and a matching red bandana. He's got sharp cheekbones and bright eyes._

_Missouri starts the meeting once the last few stragglers arrive. Everyone goes around and does introductions. Weenie Hut is "Samandriel, but call me Alfie or Sam. He/him."_

_"We have another angel in the group today, Alfie," Missouri says, gesturing to Castiel. He waves. Alfie smiles at him._

_"Castiel, he/him," He introduces._

_"Anyone have anything to share today?"_

_One of the girls pipes up. She's connected to a breathing tube. Her childhood dog is sick, and it's made her think about things differently..._

_Alfie catches Castiel by the coffee and donut table on the way out. The donuts are stale and the coffee is worse, but Castiel fills a paper cup up with it anyway._

_"Are your parents super religious, too?" Alfie stands close to him._

_"Of a sort. My mother likes history as much as theology. Castiel is traditionally the angel of Thursdays."_

_He smiles at Castiel with shining eyes, "That's so cool. I'm not sure who I'm named after, but it's nice to meet you, Angel of Thursday."_

_He smiles back, crookedly._

_***_

_"Hey, Castiel, right?" Alfie smiles. He's sweating a little under the Weenie Hut lights._

_"Yes. How are you, Alfie? I'll have a lemonade and a pretzel. And a chocolate muffin."_

_"I'm okay. I get off at 3, will you be around?"_

_He glances back at Adra, who smiles at him_

_"I can be."_

_Alfie lights up, "Great!"_

_The muffin is dry and crumbly and tastes like a mouthful of straight cocoa powder. Castiel can picture Gabriel's look of disgust, and he tosses it without finishing._

_Adra goes to try on some jeans the same time Alfie gets off shift, leaving him and Alfie alone at the table._

_"Do you mind if we sit for a while? It's been a long day," He asks, cracking his neck._

_"Not at all." Castiel coughs discreetly into his napkin._

_Alfie is half a year younger than him but a grade ahead. He has a cat at home and his parents are both doctors. The Weenie Hut job is just to get him out of the house, which he doesn't mind._

_"What about you? What do you do?" He doesn't actually bat his eyelashes at Castiel, but it's a near thing._

_"Um, I'm transitioning to public school, I used to be homeschooled until last year. I like to read." He hasn't read a book in months._

_"Right, you mentioned that the other day. Why do you go to meetings? CF, right?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Some people have all the luck."_

_Castiel looks at him a moment, and when a smile creeps across Alfie's face, Cas realizes hes joking and huffs a laugh._

_"At least you get to work at Weenie Hut,” He points out, “I would cough on the food and they would fire me immediately."_

_"Good point."_

_"And I don't get a stylish bandana."_

_"True. Is that why you did the blonde?"_

_Castiel touches his fringe. After a moment, he says, "I just wanted something different.”_

_"Ah. It's... distinct, thats for sure. Anyway, books?"_

_Samandriel likes fantasy, all the elves and spaceships and complicated names. He's also a big fan of Shakespeare, and was slated to played Horatio in the local theater production of Hamlet before he got diagnosed a few months ago. He doesn't mind being demoted to stagehand, really. No, really._

_He's... Nice. Sweet, he thinks is an appropriate word. He looks forward to seeing him again._

_***_

_"Do bees choose to do the work they do to collect pollen? Or do you think they're just following orders? Are there consequences if they disobey?"_

_The room is quiet._

_"That's an interesting question, Castiel. Um, how did you come up with that?" Missouri asks._

_He puts one foot up on his chair and looks out the window. "I saw some bees in the garden the other day."_

_"Oh, you garden? Tell us about that."_

_He is silent._

_"Castiel?"_

_Alfie chimes in, "Um, I think they choose to. But, like, what other choice do they have? It's not like they can play video games instead."_

_There's some tittering from the rest of the group._

_"That's a good point, Alfie. Does anyone else have hobbies like Castiel?"_

_There's a bird hopping across the windowsill, a bit of straw in it's beak. It stops and stares for a minute before flying away._

_"Uh, I got a cactus once as a gift. I forgot to water it though, so I think it died."_

_***_

_"Castiel?" Adra knocks on the wall before turning the corner and peering at him on the couch._

_He puts the letter down. The writing is fading under the creases, having been folded and refolded so many times._

_"Yes?"_

_"Missouri said you seemed down today."_

_Castiel looks away. The air conditioning flaps the leaves of the hosta sitting by the window. It's doing a little dance, that's what Anna would've said._

_"Apologies,” He says, “I'll talk more next week."_

_Adra sits on the edge of the cushion next to him._

_"What's going on? Is it about...?" She reaches over, her hand hovering above his leg._

_"Please," He says just before she makes contact, "I want to be left alone."_

_She draws her hand back, and leaves._

_***_

_Alfie is flopped on the couch, his arms behind his head. He is indistinct in the dark, but Castiel has been staring long enough that he is starting to understand his outline._

_"Do you ever feel... different?"_

_Castiel snorts, "Is that rhetorical?"_

_The Alfie lump turns towards him. "Besides being sick, dummy. Different from other boys, I guess."_

_He pulls the blanket up towards his chin, "Sometimes. What do you mean?"_

_Alfie is quiet for a moment._

_"Even before I got sick, I never thought... The way all my aunts and uncles would talk about growing up, finding a wife, it just didn't make sense to me. I didn't want, I don't know, I didn't want what they wanted." Castiel doesn't say anything, so Alfie continues, "Um. Robbie kissed me the other day." One of his castmates._

_Oh._

_"I... I guess it felt like, I dunno. Like it all just... clicked."_

_Oh._

_"Do you want to date Robbie?"_

_"Um."_

_Samandriel shuffles into a sitting position. Castiel's heart jumps and he is sure that his friend can hear it clear across the room. "He's not the one I'm interested in."_

_His friend moves in slow motion, coming over to Castiel and reaching his hands out. He bumps into the recliner, and Castiel can smell his soap, a woodsy, pine sort of smell. As Alfie leans down, Castiel leans up._

_***_

_Castiel stares at the bottle of red hair dye. It's as tall as two of his inhalers stacked on top of one another. It mocks him: it calls him weird, it calls him a coward._

_It calls him best friend._

_***_

_"Hey --Oh, green?" Alfie asks, leaning into Castiel's personal space to touch his fringe. He's a full head shorter than Castiel._

_"Yes. What do you think?"_

_"It's... nice." He says and looks away quickly._

_"Thank you."_

_They embrace. Alfie is warm._

_***_

_They have good days: Alfie brings him a pretzel at the end of his shift. They read Shakespeare, doing performances across the living room. They kiss lazily on Castiel's bed, hands and legs intertwined._

_They have bad days. Alfie is grey and sleepy for most of the visit, or Castiel is coughing too hard to get a word out. Alfie wants things from Castiel, like a foot rub or to stay for dinner, but doesn't bother to tell him until after the fact, when he's mad about not getting it. They argue: about food, about Othello, about God._

_"What do you think happens if you kill yourself?" Castiel asks one day, his feet propped up on the coffee table._

_Alfie stares at him, "Uh, what? Castiel, you're not going to--"_

_Castiel looks away, "No. I'm just asking."_

_"Geez, uh, I dunno," He runs a hand over his bandana, "I think you go to hell."_

_He makes a face and Alfie frowns at him._

_"Jesus, Castiel, you're such a downer."_

_He snorts, shrugging with his whole body, "And?"_

_He blinks at him. "Uh, and it sucks to be around?"_

_Castiel doesn't say anything. So what? Sometimes it feels like being down is the only thing that's real._

_Whatever._

_Alfie stares at him for a second, then huffs and goes to the kitchen._

***

_“Happy Valentines Day," Castiel says, holding out the poorly-wrapped present._

_Alfie grins ear-to-ear, at least until he pulls the ornament out from the paper. It's a little red locker from East High._

_"Since you like musicals," Castiel says helpfully._

_Alfie forces a smile and its gone as quick as it comes. "It's great, Castiel. Thanks."_

***

_They're leaving church one day when it happens. Alfie pulls him aside into the cemetery while his parents are bringing the car round._

_"Castiel..." He starts, his eyes brimming, "I don't think I wanna do this any more."_

_Castiel blinks. A lump rises in his throat, "What?"_

_"It's just not gonna work. Like, do you even listen to me? I mean, I hate High School Musical."_

_Castiel doesn't know what to say._

_Alfie looks at his feet, "You're just not who I thought you were. I'm sorry."_

_***_

_“Castiel, are you ready to go?"_

_He rolls over and grunts._

_"Okay, I'll call Missouri."_

"Geez," Dean says, carting a hand through his hair, "Alfie sounds like a piece of work."

"Maybe,” Castiel shrugs, “But we were young."

"Still," Dean says, "Not your fault he had this weird idea of you in his head."

"...No, I guess not."

He bites his lip, "I can't believe he didn't like your hair."

Castiel blushes and touches his fringe. Dean's eyes track the movement, smiling crookedly, "Seriously."

"Thank you," He says, heart pounding, "I need to redo it."

"Yeah. Blue again?"

“Yes, probably.”

Dean looks down, licking his lips, "So, um. Anyone else I should know about?"

"No, that's everyone.”

Dean nods. He's pensive for a little bit. "I'm real sorry about Anna,” He says eventually, spinning his ring around his finger, “Y'know, Bobby... His wife died in a hunting accident when we were kids. He went to the hospital on their next wedding anniversary. Dad always said it was a shop accident, but, I wondered... Sorry. Sorry, you probably don't wanna hear about this."

"It's alright. Is that why he's in the wheelchair?"

"Yeah."

Curious.

Dean moves Alfie's items to the side, scooting closer to Castiel. Cas' breath catches in his throat.

"Um, Cas--" He starts, turning red. "I--" He swallows and tears his eyes away, and whatever he was going to say is lost. Instead he says, "Thanks for telling me."

Oh. "Um, thank you."

Dean blinks, "What for?"

"For being trustworthy."

His face softens and he lets out a breathy, oh. "Uh. Yeah, sure. Any time, Rocketman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please reach out. You are needed here and loved in ways you don't even know.
> 
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> https://www.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines  
> https://www.thetrevorproject.org/


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for John Winchester's A+ Parenting

"So you'll watch it?" Jess asks, bouncing on her toes.

Sam, bless him, tries really hard not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, I will."

"I'll make sure he does!" Dean says from the kitchen.

"Bitch!" Sam sticks his tongue out.

"Jerk."

Jess beams at Dean, her hair a big golden halo in the doorway. She and Sam hug, and Sam kisses her cheek. Dean makes a gagging sound. Jess laughs. When she leaves, Sam trots over to the kitchen.

"Will you watch it with me?" He asks, leaning on the back of Dean's chair.

"Twilight? Seriously?" He huffs.

Sam pushes his glasses up on his nose. "She said it's good! It does have vampires."

"That sparkle! Vampires shouldn't sparkle, dude."

"Pleeease?" Sam gives his best impression of a sad dog, and Dean caves.

"Fine. Does tomorrow work? Cas is staying over so you can torture both of us with it."

Sam grins, "Sure."

“Whatever.” He looks down at the napkin he's fiddling with, "Hey uh, what do you think of Castiel?"

Sam raises an eyebrow, "Um, he's fine. He's really cool. Why?"

He glances at John's door, where he can hear him stirring. "Uh. I dunno, just wondering."

Sam glances back at Dad's door, too. "Wanna talk about it later?" He asks, dropping his voice.

"Yes, please.”

Good thing, too, since a couple minutes later John emerges, his hair mussed and his eyes bloodshot.

"Dean, call out of work for me," He says, yanking open the fridge.

"Uh, I'm not working tonight?"

"I mean call me out of work," He snaps, "I'm going hunting this weekend."

Dean frowns. He looks to Sam, who shrugs.

"Why do I have to do it?"

John spins around and pops his beer open with one hand, "The bitch thinks I've called out too many times. If you call for me she'll believe it."

Dean swallows. "Um, no? Just go to work."

John's eyes turn steely, and Dean freezes. "I don't like your tone, young man,” He grunts. Shame wells up and Dean stares at the table. "I gave you an order.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam move and he whips a hand out to stop him. "Fine," He spits, "Fine, sir. Where's your phone?"

John takes a long drink, a self-satisfied glint in his eyes, and tosses it over. Dean catches it with one hand.

***

Castiel arrives a few minutes before the pizza does. John's already shipped out, so it's just the boys for the night. Dean's relieved -- he doesn't think he could justify all three of them watching a chick flick, even if it was Jess' idea.

"You never told me why you asked about Cas yesterday," Sam says, popping the DVD out of it's case. He looks over and smirks, "Do you have a crush on him or something?"

Dean nearly chokes on his soda. "No," He says, too quickly. Sam was kidding, but he looks over at Dean again, puzzled. Dean pulls at his collar.

"Uh... I'd be okay with it. If you did," Sam says slowly.

He looks away, his face burning, "No. It-- I was just asking."

He stares at Dean a moment longer. "Sure." A beat of silence, "You know, Jess had a girlfriend last summer, Sarah. They met at camp. So, y'know, I really don't care, dude."

Dean... doesn't know what to say to that. “Um. How is Jess? How are you two?”

“Oh. She's... good,” Sam grins around his words, “It's going really good. It's like, easy, you know? It's just easy to be with her.”

He smiles. That's how it should be.

After a couple minutes, the doorbell rings and Dean jumps up to get it.

"Cas!"

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel has a backpack slung over one shoulder and his medical vest tucked under his arm. In his other arm he has some limp purple flowers. He holds them out to Dean.

"Oh shit, for me?" He tries to keep his smile down and fails spectacularly.

"Yes. These are crocuses, they just bloomed." Cas smiles when he takes the flowers and The Vest. Dean catches Sam raising his eyebrow and flips him off.

They dump Cas' stuff in Dean's bedroom. “So, you gonna keep me up again with your snoring?”

Castiel's eyes go wide, "I didn't know I did that."

Dean laughs and claps him on the shoulder, "You don't, dude, I'm joking."

"Oh,” He sounds relieved, “Okay.”

Without thinking about it, Dean grabs him and pulls him into a hug. Cas hesitates, then hugs back, his arms going around Dean's waist. He's a few inches taller than Dean and he smells like cinnamon.

When they part, Cas looks from his eyes to his lips a couple times. Dean swallows.

"Good to see you, man."

"You, too. Although I did just see you at school."

"Oh, so I'm not allowed to miss you now?"

Cas laughs and Dean can feel it against his own chest.

“I never said that."

He looks at Dean heavy-lidded, and Dean feels all the world like Castiel is flirting with him. But he couldn't be, right? Its Dean's own crush making him read into things.

Right?

Dean opens his mouth to say something, like maybe his I have a massive crush on you confession from the other week is finally gonna come out.

Of course, just then, Sam bangs on the door.

"Deeean, Caaaas," He says, "Pizza's here."

Son of a bitch. "Be right there!"

Sam leaves the pizza on the kitchen table and turns the TV on. Castiel tilts his head, "Are we watching something?"

Dean chuckles, "Jess is making Sammy watch Twilight, so he's making me watch it, so I'm making you watch it."

He blinks, processing, then frowns. "Is it bad?"

"No!" Sam defends from his spot on the couch. "Dean just thinks it's a chick flick. But it's good, I promise."

Dean rolls his eyes and plops down, his arms slung over the back of the couch. Sam sits on one side of him, Cas on the other. Sam's curled up, but Castiel stretches out, putting his legs overtop Dean's. Sam looks at them a moment too long, and Dean flicks the back of his head.

"Ow!" He whines, rubbing the spot.

They start the movie. At some point, Sam moves to the edge of his seat, leaning over on his elbows to get a better view.

"Dude, you're not getting into this, are you?" Dean asks. Sam doesn't look away from the screen, just swats a hand in his general direction.

“Shhh.”

A little later, after Edward and Bella have confessed their undying love for one another for the zillionth time, Dean looks over and Sam is fast asleep, his mouth is hanging open and everything. He snorts and nudges Castiel.

"He used to do this all the time as a kid," He whispers, "Put him in front of a movie and he'd knock out in twenty minutes." He chuckles and gestures to the TV, "I don't see what the big deal is. Prom? All these movies make it out to be the best night of your life, but if it's anything like homecoming it's just a bunch of kids in fancy outfits grinding on each other."

"Hm," Castiel muses, "If there's actual dancing, I see the appeal. I took a dance class with Alfie, once."

"Oh yeah? What was it like?" He asks, putting a hand down on Cas' shin.

“Um,” He says, his eyes stuck where Dean's touching him, “It was fun. We were sixteen and terrible, but we did learn something."

"Oh? Wanna show me some moves?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

Cas blushes. “It was, uh, a ballroom dancing class."

Oh. "So? You can still show me."

Castiel's eyes study him up and down, slow. Dean swallows. Cas seems to make a decision, swinging his legs up and standing. Dean follows. Together, the two of them push the coffee table up under the window to give them a few more feet of space.

Cas holds out his hand. Dean glances back at Sam, still passed out, and takes it.

"I'll lead," Castiel says. Dean nods. Cas positions Dean's hands, one on Cas' shoulder and one in his outstretched hand. His own free hand he puts on Dean's waist. His fingers are cool, heat leeching out through Dean's t-shirt. If they get any closer, Cas will be able to feel Dean's heart pounding in his ribs.

"The waltz is done on beats of three,” Castiel explains, looking down at Dean's bare feet, “I step forward and you step back, like this. Then I shift my weight and step back, and you step forward."

It takes them a minute, switching directions a couple times while Dean steps on Cas' toes, but they get into a rhythm. They bump chests. Castiel counts, one two three, one two three, one two three. The moment Dean stops looking down at their feet, his eyes snap to Castiel's. They are bright blue and he's pressed his brows into a solid line, concentrating. One two, three, one two three, one--

Dean leans forward, and they're kissing. Holy fuck. Cas lips are as soft as he expected them to be, warm, and Castiel is kissing back, gentle, slow. They move together, and Castiel starts a sway as they kiss, not quite a dance, but almost. They break apart and Dean chases him for another kiss, then another.

"Holy shit," He whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

Castiel clears his throat. "Um. Yes." He smiles.

Behind them, Sam shifts and snorts in his sleep. Dean jumps back, his veins ice. He almost falls backwards into the table, but Cas grabs his shoulder and hauls him up.

"Um," Dean says. He wants to lean forward again, but he's frozen in place.

"We could... go for a drive?" Castiel offers, still looking a little deer-in-headlights.

"Uh. Yeah. Lets.”

***

Dean's hands shake as he starts the car. He steals glances over to Castiel, until Cas reminds him to keep his eyes on the road.

"Right."

They don't say anything else. The longer the silence stretches on, the more nervous Dean gets. What was he thinking? He doesn't even know if Cas likes him like that, and he just kissed him out of nowhere. Fuck. He's probably just waiting for the right time to tell him off, to say he never wants to see him again. Fucking awesome. Great. Way to go, Winchester, ruining like, the best friendship you've ever had. You stupid motherfucker.

Dean pulls into the clearing they sat at on Thanksgiving, his heart in his throat. There's a mound of snow still under the shade of the tree, but the rest has melted.

He parks, but doesn't move to get out of the car.

Castiel eyes him, biting his lip.

"Um," Dean stutters. Of course Cas wasn't flirting with him. Who would want to?

"Yes, Dean?"

"Um," He says again. "Don't hate me."

Castiel freezes. He knits his brows together. "Um, what for?"

"For kissing you?"

He frowns, "Did... Did you not want to?"

"What? No, I wanted to. But... I just mean, I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" Castiel unbuckles and pivots so he's facing Dean. Dean dares to look over at his friend, who is squinting, "I wanted to, Dean. Am I, am I missing something?"

What? Dean's whole body flushes, "Does -- Does that mean you like me?"

Castiel actually laughs, chuckling into his fist.

His heart sinks. "Oh." He turns away.

Cas pauses, cutting his laugh short. "Wait, Dean." He puts a hand on his leg, "I do. I do like you."

“Uh, then why are you laughing?"

"Because you're an idiot." Castiel chuckles again, which turns into a cough. When he's done, he leans closer. His eyes are really blue. "Dean. I really, really like you. I want to kiss you again, if you'll let me."

Oh. Oh.

Hell yes, he'll let him. In fact, he surges forward and kisses Cas again, a little frantic. He winds his hands into Cas' hair, and Cas' arms come around his neck. Fuck yes.

They kiss for a while, hungry, and distantly Dean wishes he'd brushed his teeth. Castiel's mouth tastes like toothpaste and the bitter aftertaste of medication. His kisses are dry, and he gasps when Dean runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

They pause and Dean pushes Cas' chest back. He wriggles over to the passenger side, careful not to bump his head, and sits in Castiel's lap. He touches their foreheads together, going crosseyed.

"Hi.”

"Hello. Dean?"

"Yeah?" He asks, leaning back.

"Would you like to go on a date?"

It's his turn to laugh, "Um, yeah, duh."

"Great,” He grins, “I just wanted to make sure."

"Okay, weirdo."

"Idiot."

Then, Castiel reaches up and brushes Dean's cheek with the back of his fingers. "Oh, you're so beautiful.”

"Uh, I'm getting mixed messages here, man."

Cas laughs and leans forward, kissing Dean's chin. Dean's breath catches.

"Does that help?"

"Y- yeah."

Castiel kisses a trail back over to his mouth. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

After a bit, Cas' chest starts to hurt, so they take a breather and lie down on the hood of the car. It's a little nippy, but it's refreshing considering how sweaty they've both gotten.

"So, was Alfie your first boyfriend?" Dean asks, watching a plane disappear behind some clouds.

"Yes. You dated Lisa and... Carmen, correct?"

"Yeah."

Castiel is quiet for a moment, "I didn't know you liked men, too."

Dean glances over, and Cas has a smile tugging at the side of his mouth.

"I do,” He explains, “I figured it out a few years ago, right around when me and Carmen broke up. I haven't really told anyone except Charlie. She uh, she pointed it out to me, actually."

“Oh?”

“Yeah, apparently seeing a movie three times just because Hugh Jackman is shirtless in it is uh, not something straight guys do.”

Castiel chuckles, “Not particularly I don't think, but then again I wouldn't know." He takes a deep, in, hold, out.

"Yeah. How'd you figure it out? Alfie?"

He smiles with one side of his mouth, "Alfie confirmed it I suppose, but part of me always felt like... If I pictured my future, it was with a man."

"Ah, I get you."

Castiel rolls onto his side, facing Dean. "I'm surprised you haven't told Sam, at least."

Dean fidgets with his amulet. "I... I dunno. I figured I'd tell him if it was relevant."

“Relevant like going on a date with your male friend?”

“Uh. Yeah, maybe.”

Castiel has one hand propping up his head, and the other is curled in near his waist. Dean reaches over and brushes his first two fingers across Castiel's. Cas watches the movement, "You did that the other day, too. Why?"

"Uh. It's a Vulcan kiss. Like Sarek and Amanda do."

“I see.” He mirrors the movement, so their fingers rub back and forth together. "So you were trying to kiss me?"

Dean blushes and slings his free arm over his face. "Shaddup. Maybe."

Castiel takes his hand and brings it to his lips. His fingers are cold but his mouth is warm.

"Hm. Cute," Cas murmurs against his skin.

“Shut up,” Dean says, blushing.

***

On the way home, Dean drives one-handed, the other slotting into Castiel's.

"What're you smiling about?" The boy in question asks, squeezing Dean's hand.

"Nothin'," Dean says, still grinning, "Just, uh, you."

"Oh." He brings Dean's hand up to his lips again and kisses it through a smile.

"Uh. So, d'you think I should tell Sam?"

Castiel shrugs, “It's up to you."

"Gee, thanks."

“Do you think he'd think differently of you?"

Dean scowls, "I mean, no? But I kinda, like, don't wanna tell him, at least not yet."

Cas looks over at him, “So we can make out in peace?"

He slams the brakes, lurching forward. "Um."

Castiel laughs, "Is that not your intention?"

"Uh. I mean." He doesn't know how to say that yes, that was exactly his intention, but didn't expect Castiel to be so blunt about it.

Cas laughs again and Dean continues driving, his heart pounding in his ribs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW again for John Winchester's A+ Parenting

Castiel tugs at his tie and loosens it a couple inches.

"Hey, I spent good time on that!" Jo says, swatting his hands.

He grimaces, "Sorry." He runs his fingers through his hair, which sticks up at odd angles no matter what he does to it. The dye is fresh enough to leave blue stains on his fingers.

"You look great." She props her chin on his shoulder and flips his tie around the right way, "Besides, its Dean, I think he'd rather you show up in chocolate sauce and whipped cream anyway."

He frowns, "That's hardly appropriate for a first date."

"This is Dean we're talking about."

"This is true."

And there it is, the crux of everything. The reason his stomach has been in knots all day, why he's had Jo do and redo his tie four times, why his heart is pounding in his ears: It's Dean he's going on a date with. _Dean_ , the cool, suave, thoughtful young man who also happens to be Castiel's best friend. No pressure.

He touches his tie again, running his fingers down it for comfort. He coughs a couple times.

"You kinda look like a tax accountant,” Jo says.

"Adra is an auditor," He says with a shrug.

“That explains so much."

He looks at his reflection, trying to see it how Dean will. He looks smart, well-put-together. A little small, and not just because he got Adra's frame. He looks better when he smiles, so he does that.

"Can we get going?"

Cas runs his hands through his hair one last time. "Yes."

Downstairs, he's pulling on his coat when Adra comes over wrapped up in a long cardigan.

"Don't you look handsome," She says. She looks him up and down, her gaze lingering on his tie, which has once again flipped backwards.

"Thank you."

"Oh, before you go." She holds a row of condoms out. "Take these."

Castiel stares at his mother's outstretched hand, wide-eyed. Jo bursts out laughing. She laughs for a long minute, so hard that tears start to stream down her face.

"Are you okay?" Adra asks, when Jo is finally able to take a deep breath and wipe her face off.

She shakes her head, "Sorry, sorry, I'm fine. Just-- _wow_ , that was not what I expected. No offense, Miss N."

She squints. "None taken. I assume Ellen is less forthcoming about this sort of thing?" She's still holding the condoms out, loosely, as if she's forgotten about them.

Jo shakes her head, "By a long shot. I think she still sees me as the little girl in pigtails, if you know what I mean."

Adra frowns, "That's unfortunate. Free condoms were popularized in the 1980s by gay activists amidst the AIDS crisis, actually. They understood that promoting safer sex was more important than pretending we did not have it.” She gestures with the condoms again, “Do _you_ want any?"

It's Jo's turn to go wide-eyed, shaking her head, "Um, no thanks. I'm not really doing much of that these days. But um, I'll let you know if I do?"

She seems satisfied with this and nods. "Castiel?" She gestures. He has no choice; He takes them and tucks them into his coat pocket. His mother beams and he tries to not look mortified. She squeezes his shoulder. "Have fun!"

Castiel doesn't say anything -- he _can't_ \-- so he just looks over to Jo and they head out.

***

In the car, they get everything situated in silence. He clicks in. Jo hands him her iPod, and when they make eye contact,they burst out laughing. "Holy shit, Castiel." She covers her mouth when she laughs.

He shifts in his seat, "I'm sorry about that."

"Are you kidding? Your mom's amazing, I'm gonna think about that for the rest of my life."

She is remarkable, if embarrassing.

He takes the iPod from Jo's outstretched hand.

"Pick something that'll calm your nerves," She says, pulling out of the driveway.

He scrolls through, "Do you have any Ke-dollar sign-ha?"

"Do... Do you mean Kesha?"

He blushes, "Um."

"Oh my god. No, I don't have any Kesha. I do have Nicki Minaj though."

Good enough. He finds some and puts it on.

Jo glances over to him a few times while she drives. It strikes him how similar she and Dean are. It comes from growing up together, he guesses. A pang of envy rings in his chest.

"What's up?" Jo asks.

"Nothing," He says, pulling at the lapels of his trenchcoat, "I'm nervous, I suppose."

She gives him a small smile, "That's what Nicki is for. Don't worry, man. Dean really likes you, I can tell.”

“Oh?”

She chews her bottom lip. “Yeah, he's been, I dunno, happier since you joined the group."

Castiel chews on the idea until Jo turns into the trailer park. He coughs into his sleeve a few times.

"Knock 'em dead," Jo says, putting the car in park and patting his arm.

"I do not want to--"

"It's an expression, dude. You got this."

He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. All his calming thoughts are thrown out the window when Dean answers, dressed in a well-fitting, wine red shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is slicked back with way too much gel, but that doesn't stop Cas from wanting to run his hands through it to mess it up. "Um, hello, Dean."

Dean grins, looking him up and down with frank appreciation. "Hey, Cas, uh, c'mon in." He tugs at his own shirt collar.

Inside is a touch too warm as usual, so Castiel sheds his coat and loosens his tie an inch.

"I, uh, like the tie," Dean says, gesturing for him to sit at the table thats been miraculously cleared off.

"Thank you, Jo helped me with it.”

"Well, you look great," He blurts out, then winces.

Cas chuckles, "Thank you, so do you." He smiles at his friend -- boyfriend? -- who blushes and smiles back.

The table has been cleared of its usual clutter, leaving a mismatched set of plates and cups on each end. On top of each plate is a menu written in a loose, curling script. The ink smells fresh. Cas takes a deep sniff, "Is this... blueberry scented?"

Sam, who is clambering away in the kitchen, pipes up, "Yeah, it's blueberry, cherry, and orange! I had to borrow them from school."

"I see. This is really well done, Sam."

Sam blushes and turns back to the stove, "Jess helped."

"I see."

"Don't say anything 'til you've tried it, it could be poisonous for all we know,” Dean jokes.

"True," Cas nods. Sam mutters something he doesn't catch.

Dean fiddles with his napkin, rolling it up between his two fingers. They both take their seat and lapse into silence. Dean sips his water. Castiel coughs. "So, uh... Sup?" Dean asks after a couple minutes.

Cas smiles at his earnestness.

"Well, I'm currently on a date with my friend, but he's not a great conversationalist so far."

"Oh, fuck you," Dean says, making a face.

Cas laughs. "Let's eat first."

Dean chokes on nothing, which makes Sam laugh from the kitchen. "Jesus," he splutters.

"No, I'm Castiel."

He recovers enough to roll his eyes. After a quick glance at Sam, he takes out his phone.

srry im being weird, im ... nervous. is tht stupid?

Cas smiles at his phone. Not at all. I am, too.

You look really nice.

Across the table, Dean bites his lip.  all for u baby 

Ah, there he is. There's Dean.

They text back and forth for a few minutes, Dean loosening up more each moment. When Sam brings them their first course, which is a heap of slightly overcooked garlic bread, Dean can look at Cas and talk at the same time. The garlic bread is amazing, glistening in butter that leaves his hands sticky. Castiel pops a couple Creon tablets and digs in.

"Damn, he's really outdone himself this time," Dean says through a mouthful of bread.

"Agreed. How did he learn to cook?"

"It wasn't me, that's for sure."

"You're not a bad cook," Cas defends, thinking of the sandwich Dean made him a couple weeks ago, along with a couple other meals since then.

"Eh, it's more effort than it's worth most of the time."

"I see."

Except when he cooks for Cas, apparently.

"I've been meaning to ask, dude, what's your favorite food?"

"Burgers, definitely."

Dean lights up, "Ah, a man after my own heart."

Without missing a beat, Cas says, "Yes, I need it for ritual purposes."

Dean almost does a spit-take. "Fuck." He puts his water down and makes a cross with two slices of garlic bread, "Back, demon! Back!" Cas tears off a corner of garlic bread and tosses it across the table. Dean laughs.

The rest of dinner goes well. Sam brings out mac and cheese, burgers, and finally blueberry pie. The mac and cheese is box and Sam added too much garlic powder, and the blueberry pie is soggy on the bottom, but it's a meal well done as far as Castiel's concerned.

An alarm goes off on his phone as he's scraping up the remaining blueberry juice onto his fork, and Cas excuses himself to the bathroom to take his antibiotic. At the sink, he splashes water in his face. He has a bit of stubble growing in, thick and dark across his jaw; he rubs his thumb over it. Hopefully Dean won't mind.

He admires his mother's optimism, really, giving him condoms. He doesn't know how he'll be able to handle... that... if the mere thought of kissing Dean makes him this giddy. Honestly, Adra.

When he leaves the bathroom, the young man in question is standing outside the door, so close Castiel almost bumps into him. "Oh, hello."

"Hi," Dean says around a smile, his hands in his pockets. He has a black jacket on with a ton of zippers in odd places.

"Yes? Is there something you need?"

He bites his lip, rocking back on his feet a little. A clink from the kitchen tells them that Sam is still nearby. "Wanna, uh, go for a walk?"

He grins. "Yes, please."

Spring has been edging in for a couple weeks now, so Castiel is comfortable in just his trenchcoat and shirt. He leaves the tie on, but loosens it. They wander around the neighborhood around to the walking path behind the houses. Dean walks close to him, hands still in his pockets.

"Thank you for agreeing to do this," Cas says when they're out of earshot of Sam or any of the neighbors.

“Do what?”

“This date. It's been nice,” He says through a slow smile.

Dean lights up, "Fuck yeah, Cas, this has been great. One of my top five dates for sure."

"Top five?" He arches an eyebrow. "Should I be offended?"

"Nah. The waitress in Tallahassee was _very_ flexible." He winks.

Now that they're alone, Castiel takes a moment looks Dean up and down. He's a little stocky, clean shaven, and slightly bow-legged. It's an appallingly hot combination, if Cas says so himself.

"You know, before we got here Jo was implying some very salacious things about you," He says. They stop under some trees, the first part of a walking path that goes deeper through the forest. Someone has strung fairy lights over the path for a ways, but otherwise it's dark and still. A row of pine trees wall off this spot from any peering eyes in the trailers nearby.

Dean stands in front of him, only coming up to Cas' chin. He smells like minty aftershave.

"Oh?" Dean's voice is deep, rough like after he's just woken up. Cas swallows.

"Yes. She mentioned something about whipped cream."

Dean grins,"Well, I can't say I don't like the idea."

His lips are thin, and shine in the light where he's licked them.

“Me neither.”

He puts a hand on the collar of Dean's jacket and pulls him in.

***

The trailers have turned on their outside lights by the time the two of them wander back to Dean's. They're a little ways away when Cas spots a small black car in the driveway and feels Dean freeze."What's wrong?"

Dean unthreads their fingers. "Dad's home." Oh, merde.

Dean gets a far-off look, all the joy he just had completely evaporated.

"What should we do?"

He swallows. "Let's uh...” He gestures to Castiel's tie, “Take that off? He'll ask questions. Um, we can help Sam clean up and then we can go for a drive?"

"We could stay out here," He suggests as he undoes his tie.

"Nah, he'll ask even more questions."

"Ah."

He shoves the tie in his pocket underneath the enzyme tablets. Dean flattens his hair down as best he can.

Dean hadn't cared much who knew they were on a date, except John. He was the one person Dean put his foot down on. Watching him inch towards the front door, his back straightening and his smile falling away, Castiel is filled with sudden, white hot rage. John is the adult here, he shouldn't make Dean act this way. It isn't fair!

"Hey, uh, don't start anything, alright?" Dean says, as if reading Castiel's mind.

Castiel squints. "Fine."

Before they go inside, he reaches out and puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean turns back and they just look at each other for a moment. They breathe together, in, hold, out. Inside the trailer, the atmosphere has shifted. There's a dark leather jacket slung over the back of the chair Castiel had used for dinner, and Sam is scrubbing a big pot, his eyes trained firmly on the sink. Castiel didn't mind the heat before, but now it's suffocating.

"Dean, where the hell is --" John says, stopping when he looks over at them. He curls his hand around the package of coldcuts and lhe ooks Castiel up and down. "Oh, hello." He is polite, guarded.

"Uh, Dad, this is Castiel. Cas, Dad." John studies Cas, as if assessing whether or not he's a threat.

"What do you do, son?"

Cas forgets everything he's ever done in his life for a solid five seconds. "I'm in school with Dean. I volunteer at the library, too."

"How long have you been doing that?"

"Um, three years.”

John turns back to the fridge. "You ever been hunting?"

"No."

"What's your family like?"

Cas glances at Dean then back to John, "I live with my mother, she's an auditor at a university."

John's frown lightens, just a fraction. "You got a girlfriend?"

He hesitates. "No."

It hardens again. "What--"

"Geez, Dad," Sam says from behind a large baking pan, "Enough with the twenty questions."

"I thought you were at Bobby's tonight?” Dean asks.

John glances at Cas again before answering, carefully, "I am. Just forgot a book I owed him."

"Which one?"

He glances at the counter, where a beat-up book with a sailing ship on the cover is sitting. "This one." He grabs it and tucks it under his arm, then he goes and grabs his jacket off the chair. He glances at Dean and doesn't look at Castiel. At the door, he says, "I'll be back late, so you boys behave. And Dean?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Help your brother with the dishes."

"Yes, sir."

With that, he's gone.

Dean deflates. Castiel hesitates, then puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. Sam looks between the two of them, worry knitting his brows together. Dean sighs.

"I dunno what's eating him," He says eventually, watching the space John just left from.

Sam rolls his eyes, "Who cares."

He hesitates. "Um, d'you want help with those?" Dean gestures to the pile of dishes.

He looks at them and shrugs, "Nah, I'll take care of it. My treat."

"Oh, thanks, man."

Dean looks over to Cas who has tucked his hands back into his pockets and smiles, "C'mon, let's roll."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment i need the validation


	10. Chapter 10

Dean likes to think he gotten to know Castiel pretty well, but the more they hang out while they date proves just how much more he has to learn. First off, Castiel is totally insatiable. He doesn't touch Dean much in public if there's people around, but as soon as the bedroom door closes, Castiel is on him, kissing hard. He likes biting, licking up Dean's throat, tracing nonsense patterns onto his shoulderblades with his fingertips. And hey, Dean's not complaining, not one bit.

But aside from all that, Castiel cuddles like an damn octopus. He's weirdly protective of the garden, enough so that it's hit-or-miss whether he actually answers when Dean asks how it's doing. Otherwise, Cas is surprisingly gentle with Dean at times, peppering his cheeks with kisses, or giving him a Vulcan kiss whenever one of them leaves the room. Plus, he's gossipy like an old church woman, and petty, too: there's a Nicholas Sparks book that is conveniently checked out every time one of the library regulars comes in, solely because once she said Castiel's haircut made his nose look smaller.

Dean's not ashamed to admit he's fucking obsessed. He wants more of Castiel, wants all of him.

They sit opposite one another on the Novak's couch, curled up under a single large quilt. Dean is working through _Cat's Cradle_ at Cas' suggestion, and Cas is re-reading Frankenstein, for fun this time. He folds the corner of the page down and nudges Castiel's sockfoot with his bare one.

"Hm?" His boyfriend looks up.

"Consider this: Spock is gay." He smiles in anticipation. They're maybe halfway through Star Trek: The Original Series, and Castiel is loving it. He asks Dean a ton of questions and listens attentively when Dean answers, and doesn't get annoyed when he throws out trivia about the episode or interesting facts about the show's history. He's even waiting on a copy of Leonard Nimoy's I Am Spock to be available at the library.

Cas thinks for a minute, "Yes, I can see that."

"Yes! Thank you. Charlie thinks he's bi, which I guess I can see, what with the metaphor about him being neither fully human or Vulcan, but I mean, come on." He flushes, realizing he's ranting.

Cas smiles reassuringly. "I agree. What episode were we just watching?"

"Uhh, _This Side of Paradise_."

"That one. I think Spock was only interested in Leila under the influence of those spores."

"That's exactly it! And the whole point of that scene is that he's like, not able to feel emotions for women." Dean grins and Castiel nods thoughtfully.

“During which time he also reaffirms his commitment to the man on the bridge.”

“Right. Exactly. There's nothing straight about it.”

Castiel laughs. He purses his lips for a minute, still thinking, "What do you think about Captain Kirk? Does he return Spock's affection?”

“Oh absolutely. I mean, Spock is his number one for a reason.” He has some fanfiction saved on his computer that thinks so, anyway.

Castiel squint-smiles, reminding Dean of a cat, “I agree.”

This is incredible. Fuck. Dean couldn't have these kinds of conversations with Lisa or Carmen. Castiel's something special, that's for sure. Dean can't believe it sometimes. Someone who can name all the emperors of Ancient Rome in order as well as their major accomplishments will also sit and watch Star Trek with him for hours, totally enraptured. He's so fucking _cool_. Dean is absolutely giddy.

"Hey, Rocketman?" He asks, nudging Cas' foot again.

"Mm?"

"You're awesome."

"Oh. Um, thank you. You're very cool, too."

He beams.

***

"Are you done?" Cas' voice is muffled through the door. Steam fills the bathroom even with the fan going.

"Uhhh,” Dean answers, mid-lather.

"I have to pee.”

Oh. He puts on a lascivious grin, "Well, you can come on in."

Castiel hesitates long enough that Dean starts to wonder if he left.

"Hello?"

"I don't want to interrupt your private time."

Dean squints, "Uh, I'm behind a curtain, it's fine."

"Still."

"Oh my god." He starts to rinse out the shampoo.

"Please just hurry up. I don't think the hydrangeas would like it very much if I peed out the window."

“Doesn't Adra's room have a bathroom?" He laughs.

"It does, but the toilet needs repaired."

Reluctantly, Dean turns the water off and grabs a towel. The things he does for Cas, seriously, “You're such a baby.”

“I'm a year older than you.”

He yanks the door open to a distressed-looking Castiel and grins. "Needs repaired?”

"Yes."

"Aren't you forgetting a few words in there?"

“No.”

Dean's brain short-circuit when he realizes he's standing in front of his boyfriend wearing nothing but a towel. He grins and Castiel glares.

“No,” He repeats, pointing a finger at Dean's bare chest.

Dean lets himself be shooed out and Castiel slams the door.

"And stop dripping on the floor!"

“Is there no pleasing you?" He rolls his eyes loud enough for Castiel to hear.

He hears Castiel sigh, then piss like a racehorse.

"No."

“Oh, my God.”

***

He swivels on his boyfriend, bewildered, "What do you mean you've never had a cheese dog?"

Castiel shrugs, "I mean I've never had a cheese dog. You've never had boereg and that's a staple in my house."

"But-- But cheese dogs are an American staple! And they're like $5!”

Castiel shrugs and Dean stares.

“I mean, we grew up on 'em. They're delicious, right Sammy?"

Sam's eyes go wide and he ducks behind Bobby's laptop screen, "No, no, I'm staying out of this one."

"Coward."

Castiel sighs, pinching the spot between his eyes, "Honestly, Dean, it sounds disgusting."

"Oh, but it's not, it's incredible," He argues, "It's a hot dog filled with cheese!”

“Yes, I gathered that.”

“It's really good, Cas, you gotta try one.”

He rolls his eyes, “I have had my fill of hospital food, Dean, I don't want to willingly subject myself to more.”

He gesticulates widely, “But it's an American classic!"

"You said that already."

"Uh. Well – " Shit.

Castiel rolls his eyes, “You will have to forgive me if I don't see the appeal of a tube of pig intestines filled with government cheese.”

“Wh-- hot dogs aren't pig intestine, are they?” He falters. Sam makes an 'I don't know' sound.

"What in Sam Hill is going on here?" Bobby asks, coming over to where the boys are standing in front of the fridge and motioning them aside so he can get through.

"Hello, Mister Singer," Castiel says, backing up against the counter. Dean shuffles close to him.

Bobby huffs, pulling meat out from the drawer, "None of that Mister Singer crap, Cas, you're not one of my students. It's Bobby."

“Um. Right," He says, fidgeting, "Hello, Bobby."

"Hi, Cas. What are you boys fighting about now?"

"He's never had a cheese dog!" Dean says, affronted, and is even more so when Bobby rolls his eyes.

"Well, good. It means he didn't grow up poor, unlike you two."

"Hey!" He and Sam say at the same time.

"Well am I wrong?"

Dean flushes. "Well. Ugh, whatever. I can't believe I'm – friends with somebody so uncultured."

Cas raises an eyebrow, “I could say the same about you.”

“But you won't.”

“I don't believe in talking down to my juniors,” Castiel says with a shrug.

Sam bursts out laughing. Dean would too, if he hadn't just been insulted, “One year! I'm one year younger than you!”

Castiel shrugs with his whole body as if to say, what are you gonna do about it? and even Bobby snorts.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever, let's go upstairs."

Castiel follows obediently and Dean ignores the way Bobby looks like he wants to say something about leaving the door open, but doesn't.

Upstairs, the guest room has accumulated so many of Dean's things over the years that it's basically his second bedroom. There's a desk, a dresser, and a bookshelf, the latter of which currently holds the textbooks he needs to return and a cactus.

Dean flings himself on the bed and the old mattress creaks under him.

“Never had a cheese dog,” He mutters, “Unbelievable.”

Castiel doesn't bother to respond, and takes a minute to look around. "You've certainly made yourself at home here," He says, studying some of the photos Dean stuck on his mirror.

"Yeah, uh, we're here all the time."

"When did you take this?" He points to a photo of himself.

"Uhh, lemme see." Cas hands it to him. Oh yeah. It's Castiel right after he finished burning a grilled cheese. He's laughing to himself as he scrapes the black lump into the trash, completely unaware the photo's being taken. "Maybe a month ago? Sorry. I just thought it looked nice."

"It... I really like it, actually."

"Me, too."

Dean grins and pats the bed. Cas comes over and puts his hands on Dean's shoulders, kissing him through a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel taps his pen against his paper. _What conclusions did you come to over the course of your research? Did these conclusion support your hypothesis? Why or why not?_ The only conclusion he's come to so far is that he is trop fatigué putain for this. He huffs, at the same time that Sam on the other side of the table lets out a groan.

“What's wrong?” Castiel asks.

“It's this – fucking – geometry, it doesn't make any fucking sense!” Sam groans.

“Language,” Dean chides. He's already abandoned his own work and is looking over Sam's shoulder. Sam rolls his eyes and moves his paper so he can see.

“So I got the right answer, I just checked, but now I have to list out the steps on how I did it and I just don't know! I like, I just know the answer.”

Dean screws up his face in concentration, “Ah, geez. These are the, uh, proofs you were having trouble with a couple weeks ago?”

Sam sighs, “Yeah.”

“Okay, so, I haven't done this shit in years, so take the problem from the top and explain it to me.”

Sam takes a deep breath and does. A couple times, Dean stops him to explain a formula or why something is a given, and Sam backtracks and explains it. After a minute or two, Dean nods.

“Well, that sounds like a proof to me.”

Sam frowns, looking at the textbook, “Huh. I guess so. Thanks.”

He shrugs and goes to sit back down, “Any time, Sammy.”

“It's Sam.”

With a grin, Dean goes back to his seat. Castiel knows how much Dean does for Sam, but seeing it up close is something else. He wonders how much of Dean's habit of turning towards people rather than away is learned and how much is innate; But either way, its a trait Castiel deeply admires. He's really something special, that Dean. That Castiel gets to be so close to him makes him very, very happy.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Dean asks, frowning.

“No,” Castiel smiles.

Dean looks confused for a second before smiling back, blushing.

***

They're outside the Roadhouse on an unusually warm evening, waiting for Jo to finish counting the till. The lights in the parking lot have come on. Castiel forgoes the bench in order to sit cross-legged on the ground, and Dean leans back on the wall, smoking and blowing the smoke away from Cas. Spring peepers can be heard in the ponds and mud puddles for miles around.

Out of the darkness, a pair of green eyes flash. Castiel stares out, trying to see movement. After a minute, the eyes show again, closer this time. He reaches out a hand and snaps his fingers. The shape creeps closer. A cat, tawny brown, with the whiskers on one side of it's face cut short, from an accident or a fight or a fire he isn't sure. As it gets closer, it chitters at him.  
“Hello, beautiful,” He murmurs.

“Hm?” Dean grunts, looking up from his phone, “Oh.” Embarrassed, he crouches down beside Cas. The cat goes over and rubs his face on Dean's shoe.

“I always wanted a cat,” Castiel says, patting the cats butt, “I asked my mother for one for Christmas for five years in a row.”

“Damn, and still nothing?” He asks, sniffling and wiping his cat hand on his jeans.

Castiel shakes his head, “No. I think she worried I would not be able to keep up with the responsibility.”

“Ugh. Well, you can always get one when you move out.”

He nods, “That I can. Maybe I'll steal Gabe in the meantime.”

“Oh, please don't, Sam would hate you.”

“But then I would have a cat and you would have one less thing to worry about.”

Dean sighs, “I dunno, my brother hating my boyfriend is probably, like, a bigger issue.”

“Eh.” He shrugs again, “Worth it.”

Dean squints for a second, “You know, I hate that I can't tell if you're kidding or not.”

Castiel just shrugs again.

Jo comes out a few minutes later and the cat scampers away.

“Aww, you guys didn't have to wait for me.”

“Nonsense.”

“We're happy to.”

Castiel's knees crack as he stands up. Jo laughs and calls him an old man. “Thank you. Besides, it's not safe out here for young women at night.”

Jo makes a face, “Y'know, if Dean said that I'd hit him.”

“But not me? Am I special?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey,” Dean cuts in, then freezes as if embarrassed.

“What, you jealous?” Jo teases.

Dean doesn't say anything.

She laughs. Castiel threads his fingers through Dean's and they start off towards the car. The three of them leave together, the stars gathering above them.

***

Cas checks the garden on Thursday after school. The sun is setting later in the day, giving him enough time after he gets home from the library to give everything a once-over. He fills the watering can with hose water and passes over each plot of land methodically. A couple times, there is scuffling behind him and his heart picks up before he can stop it. But no one else is out there with him, just a stray squirrel or a bird.

The roses are on a fast-track to full bloom, and the shrubbery is as hearty as ever. He wipes muck off the fountain, pulling wet, rotten leaves out of the water and tossing them on the compost. Merde, he's going to have to turn it soon; Maybe this weekend, provided he has the strength. He wishes she were here to help. He wishes for – Well. He wishes.

He goes to the shed and pulls the dangling light switch, a tiny sun in the center of the garden-universe. He puts the watering can back in it's place. All is in order. He makes the mistake of looking to the corner where she and him carved their names, and a lump rises in his throat. He breathes in, hold, out.

***

Castiel spits a wad into a tissue and tosses it into the overflowing trash can. From the bed, Dean makes a face. Cas rolls his eyes and unlatches The Vest. He slides out of it, rolling his neck until he hears a pop. He coughs a few times.

“Better?” Dean asks.

“Mm,” Castiel answers, closing his eyes. He hurts lately, an ever-present ache that all the treatments in the world can't seem get rid of.

He opens his eyes stands up, stretching. He shucks his day clothes off and takes out a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Dean pats the spot on the bed for him. “Oh, hey, I like your shirt.”

He looks down. Oh. It used to be black but has since faded to grey; in a curling script it reads, Let's talk about your funeral. He swallows it before speaking.

“Thank you. It was, um. Hers.”

Dean pauses, studying the shirt again as if seeing it for the first time, “Huh. Neat.”

Castiel flops forward, landing face-down on the pillow. Dean laughs and rubs a hand up and down his back.

“That bad, huh?”

He grunts. Dean pinches the vertebrae at the top of his neck, rubbing in little circles.

“What time's your appointment tomorrow?”

Cas turns his head so he's not eating pillowcase, “Eleven. Come with me?”

“Uh, sure.”

“You won't be able to come in, but I would appreciate the company in the waiting room.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that.”

Castiel smiles and dips forward to kiss Dean's shoulder, “Thank you, dear.”

Dean bites his lip. He leans over and kisses him, “Any time.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for John Winchester's A+ Parenting, homophobia, and references to suicide.

"What do you think of Victor Frankenstein?"

They're in the Novak's kitchen, work spread out on the table. There are a dozen books between them, most from the library but some from the Novak's own collection.

"I think he's a bitch, honestly," Dean says, "I mean, he's spineless. He spends all this time creating his monster, talking about how great and godlike he is, and then when it comes to life he flips out? Lame."

Cas nods, writing. "So you don't like that he can't be taken at his word?"

"No, yeah, exactly."

Cas looks thoughtful for a moment. "Interesting. I think he talks too much."

Dean laughs. Ah, there he is, there's Castiel, “Right. He is the point of view character, though.”

“Still. He could be less annoying.”

“Right. Anyway, I dunno about you, but I was pissed when he didn't follow through on making the creature's wife.”

“Mhm,” Castiel agrees, “The problem could've been avoided altogether if he had supported his creation from the beginning, though.”

Dean bristles, thinking of his own father. “Uh. Right. But the least he could do now is support his uh, need for companionship.”

Cas looks up, as if reading his mind. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything.

Dean checks his watch just for something to do, "Oh, hey, shit, I gotta head out soon."

“Hm?” Cas raises an eyebrow.

"We're, uh, having dinner at Bobby's tonight, the usual gang.”

He nods. “I see.”

“Do you wanna come?" He smiles, expectantly.

"Um. I don't want to intrude."

Dean touches his shoulder, "Nah, dude, it's fine, they've been askin' about you."

"Who will be there?"

"Uhh me, Sammy, Jess, the Harvelle's, Ash, and Bobby."

He chews his bottom lip, "Do they know about us?"

Dean frowns, "Um, as far as I know, Ellen and Bobby don't, but everyone else does."

"Hm. Okay, I would like to join you."

He grins, "Sweet."

They pack up. While Dean stretches, Castiel goes over and knocks on the library door. "Μαμά;" He asks, opening the door.

Adra's voice can be heard inside, "Ναι, ο γοις μου;"

"Έχουμε μπύρα;" Castiel asks.

"Όχι, αλλά έχουμε κρασί."

"Ευχαριστώ." They talk together for another minute before he turns back to Dean, who's mouth has gone dry, to ask, "Does Bobby drink wine?"

He recovers quickly, "Uh, yeah, sometimes."

"Great." Cas digs around in a cabinet under the island. While he looks, Dean whips out his phone.

so fuckin unfair

Excuse me?

u speaking greek. its unbearably hot

Behind the island, Cas makes a choked off sound. Συγγνώμη

fuck u

;)  
Cas comes up with a bottle of wine in hand and kisses Dean quick, "Maybe later."

Dean shakes his head, grinning. They do wind up making out in the driveway before they leave, and it's awesome.

The sun is setting behind Bobby's place when they pull up, painting the sky in stripes of pink and orange. Cas hesitates before getting out, his hand tight around the wine bottle.

"C'mon, man. It'll be fine."

He gets out and Dean meets him around the passenger side. "I apologize," He says, "I'm just... nervous.”

Dean's stomach flips, "Aw, man. They already love you." He leans in, tugging Castiel in by the coat and kissing him, "Okay, Rocketman?"

Castiel smiles, "Okay, idiot."

"Hey, I'm your idiot."

“That you are.”

Inside is brightly lit and something sizzles on the stove. Jo and Ellen are laughing in another room, but the kitchen they enter through is all Bobby's territory. He wheels over when he hears them come in.

"Hey Bobby," Dean grins, “I brought Cas.”

"Oh, hey Cas," Bobby says, smiling, "How's your mom?"

On cue, Cas holds out the wine bottle, "Adra is well. It's good to see you again."

"You, too. C'mon in, everyone's in the living room."

Bobby has turned to leave the wine bottle on the counter when Castiel asks, "Is it true you attempted suicide?"

Bobby freezes.

Sam, who just walked in, does an about-face and leaves empty-handed.

"Who the hell told you that?" Bobby asks darkly.

Cas looks at Dean like a deer in headlights, "Um. I heard it around."

He eyes him. Castiel coughs. Something softens in Bobby's face and he smiles a little, "Those old church ladies don't know when to quit, do they?"

"No, they do not."

Bobby looks at Dean, "Boy."

"Yeah?"

"Go put that in the cellar." He jerks a thumb towards the bottle of wine. Well, Dean knows a dismissal when he hears it. He takes the wine and shuts the door behind him. Everyone looks up when he comes in. Jo is perched on the arm of the couch, Ellen beside her. Sam and Jess are sitting in chairs across from them, and Ash is cross-legged on the floor.

"You made it!" Jo says, tipping her beer at him. "Was that Cas I heard in there?"

"It was," Dean says, gesturing with the wine, "Bobby asked me to bring this downstairs, wanna come with?"

"I'll go," Sam says. Dean gives him a one-armed hug.

“Um," Sam starts when they're at the mouth of the basement, "Bobby's tried to--?"

"I dunno," Dean interrupts, "But don't worry about it. He's fine."

Sam pouts but lets it go. "Is Cas?"

Dean hesitates, "Yeah. Yeah, he just puts his foot in his mouth sometimes."

Sam grins. "No wonder you like him." He flips on the basement light.

"Shaddup, bitch." Dean finds a free shelf and sticks the wine in.

“Jerk.”

Neither Cas nor Bobby have emerged by the time they get back. Dean swallows and stares at the closed door.

"Hey," Jo says, nudging him with her sock foot, "They're probably gushing about obscure European history or something."

"Right. Yeah." Dean lets himself relax. Cas is fine. Probably.

***

They come out of the kitchen nigh half an hour later.

"What're you lookin' at, boy?" Bobby grunts when he catches Dean staring, "Go help set the table."

"Yes, Dean, go set the table," Castiel says. Dean glares; Traitor.

While they set the table, Sam and Dean bicker about who got to sit at the head of the table last time. Dean loses rock paper scissors and shuffles in next to Cas with a glare at his baby brother. He needs to start picking something other than scissors. Jo and Ellen bicker about where Jo's applied to college and whether or not it's too late to get that music scholarship. Cas, Jess, and Ash sit back and watch, amused.

Bobby brings the food out soon after: Sloppy joes, garlic mashed potatoes, corn, and green beans.

"You want a beer, Castiel?" Ellen asks, holding one out for him. "House rule is you gotta be eighteen."

"I'm nineteen," He says, "But no thank you, it would interact with my meds." Ellen shrugs and takes the drink back.

Ash, sitting on his other side, nudges him, "Hey buddy, we're the same age."

"Only cause you got held back for fighting," Jo says.

Ash points at her, "True."

Castiel nods, "I was homeschooled for a number of years, and the classes transferred in strange."

"That's public school for ya," Ash commiserates.

"Here, here!" Dean raises his beer.

"Here, here!" The table responds.

They quiet down when they start eating, no one wanting to foul the religious experience that is Bobby's cooking.  
In the middle of the meal, Cas' alarm goes off for his antibiotic, and Dean shows him to the bathroom.

Dean hesitates in the doorway. They're out of view of the rest of the family. Cas eyes him, smiling a little. "I like this," he says, "Everyone is so nice."

"Thanks, man. I'm, uh, glad you're here."

They kiss and Castiel smiles into it.

***

Dean gets stuck on dish duty -- damn rock paper scissors -- and Castiel takes pity on him and helps him dry. After a few minutes of silence, Dean's curiosity gets the better of him.

"So, uh, what did you and Bobby talk about for so long?" He asks, handing a glass over.

"I believe Bobby would prefer if we kept that between us," Cas says as he dries.

"C'mooon, not even a hint?"

He sighs, "We talked about... her. And you."

"Oh? Good things I hope." He raises his eyebrows.

Cas puts the glass down. "Please stop asking."

Oops. "Sorry." He grimaces and goes back to washing.

***

They shoot the shit for a while, until Sam starts slumping on the arm of the couch.

"That's our cue," Dean says, picking up the empty pie plate at his feet.

"Good t'see you, kid," Bobby says. He wheels over with them to the sink. "Hey," He touches Dean's arm and drops his voice, "Cas is a good kid. You keep him around, alright?" He looks in Dean's eyes and Dean is struck with the certainty that Bobby knows.

He swallows. "Um, yeah. Course I will."

"Good."

Dean leads Sam out to the car and nudges him into the back seat, where he curls up against the window.

"Aww," He coos. Sam swats at him sleepily.

Castiel slides into the front seat. Dean drops Castiel off and kisses him goodbye. Sam has fully passed out by then and doesn't bother climbing into the front seat.

The outdoor light is on when Dean pulls up, and Dad's car is in the driveway. Dean wishes suddenly that he hadn't had that second slice of pie. He checks himself in the rearview mirror, trying to flatten his hair.

John is slung across the couch reading when they get in. Sam glances at him, but Dean shoos him off to bed and Sam practically falls through the doorway.

"Where were you?" John asks over the top of his reading glasses.

"Dinner at Bobby's," He says, setting his backpack on a chair and pulling out his leftovers. Bobby had insisted he take some.

John grunts in acknowledgement, "Was Castiel there?"

Dean is careful not to let his hands falter. "Uh, yes, sir. Jo invited him," he lies.

"I don't see why you like hanging out with that queer," John says, "Y'know, when I was your age a guy like that, well, we would've..." He chuckles to himself.

Dean shoves his leftovers in the fridge. He doesn't dare turn around lest John see how hard his hands have started shaking.

"Would've what?"

John's silence is chilling.

"He's a good guy," Dean says, quietly.

He hears John shrug, "For a faggot."

"Shut up." Dean freezes, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"Shut up," Dean says again, shaking from head to toe, "Cas is a good guy. Who cares if he's gay? He's my -- he's my friend."

John stands slowly. He puts his book down and tucks his glasses into his shirt. He walks over to Dean and stares through him. "Hm. I can't seem to open the fridge. I wonder why," He says. Dean jumps out of the way, his stomach churning. John smirks. He roots around and pulls out a beer. "I wonder where my son is," He says, "Off being an ungrateful shit somewhere, no doubt." He doesn't look at Dean as he finishes the beer and goes to his room.

When he's alone, Dean leans over the sink and throws up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please reach out. You are needed here.
> 
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> https://www.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines  
> https://www.thetrevorproject.org/


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussions of suicide/references to Anna's suicide

_Castiel leans over cabbages that are as big as his head and pulls one up. It floats up in the air, hovering at head height. The carrots come up just as easily, floating somewhere around his hips. Thunder rolls in the distance. He looks up, squinting at the sky, but it's bright blue and clear. When he looks back, the vegetables have all rotten._

_"Castiel." A voice says behind him._

_He jumps. "Anna."_

_She's as beautiful and as bright as the last time he saw her alive. Her hair is long, and floats out behind her in swirling tentacles._

_"You forgot about me, Castiel." She speaks, though her mouth doesn't move. Thunder rolls at the sound._

_"No I didn't," He says, his own voice small, earthly, with no echo, "I think of you often."_

_"You don't. You've replaced me." She steps closer, and he steps back, stumbling over the fence that separates the vegetables from the rest of the plants. Her eyes flash gold. "You don't love me."_

_Cas puts his hands up, "I did. I do, Anna."_

_"Then why did you replace me?"_

_He could never, would never. "Dean is... he's different."_

_She tilts her head to one side with a smile that's all teeth, "He's going to leave you. You know that, right? Like I left you. Like Gabe and Alfie left. You have no choice." Lightning flashes, and Anna changes. She has several eyes, some on her head and some floating behind her, outlined in gold, the irises unnaturally green. "You didn't help me."_

_A lump rises in Castiel's throat, "I tried." He says. She raises a hand, and flower petals start raining from the sky, hot and fast like a summer storm._

_"I tried to," He chokes out again._

_"Like hell!" She shouts, and this time her mouth moves, "You let me die!"_

_"There was nothing I could do!"_

_But she's not having it. She moves her arm and the petals turn to cabbage, carrots... Urns that smash on the stone pathway and scatter their ashes everywhere. He shields his head with his arms. The wind picks up, flapping his coat every direction._

_"Remember me!" Anna screams, all her eyes glowing like embers, "Remember me! Remember me! Remember me!"_

Castiel jerks awake, gasping. Fever thrums through him.

The garden. He has to get to the garden. Anna will be in the garden.

He scrambles off the couch, leaving his blankets in a heap. He throws the back doors open and sprints into the overcast afternoon. The stone pathway stings his bare feet with cold.

"Anna!" He shouts, the cold prickling his oversensitive skin, "Anna! Where are you, Anna?"

No one is there. He blinks back tears. Idiot. Connard. Then he sees it. The vegetable plot is covered in a thick black mold. All the vegetables are dead.

"No," He whispers, “No!” He falls to his knees. He picks up the baby cabbage, which crumples in his hand. It stinks like an infection. Putain! It can't have been more than a day or two since he checked on it last. All his work wasted by a mistimed fever? He throws the cabbage aside and it bounces off the wire fence. Stupid! Idiote! Connard!

He grabs the fence and flings it into the ether. He rips the carrots out of the ground and breaks the beanstalks in half. What's the point? What's the putain de merde point? He tears into the dirt, clawing, digging, flinging it all around him.

"Cas? Cas!" Someone calls.

He ignores them, grabbing another part of the fence and bending it until it snaps.

Then, the someone is hauling him to his feet. "The hell are you doing? You should be in bed!" They demand, their green eyes blazing.

Anna? No, not Anna.

Won't ever be Anna again.

"Dean," He gasps, recognition washing over him. He blinks a few times.

Dean's eyes are furious with concern. A muscle in his jaw twitches, "Yeah dude, it's me. What the hell is going on?"

Castiel turns back to garden, where the carnage lies. Dean's grip is strong, or else Castiel's fever-weak, so he's stuck, Dean gripping him tight.

"Funeral roses," He says.

Dean blinks. "What?"

"They're funeral roses, Dean. Don't you get it? They're all funeral roses! If I can't stop this --" He gestures to the rotten food, "– from happening, then what's the putain de merde point?”

He thrashes and escapes. He kicks the fence and stomps it before Dean is able to heave him back. Dean drags him over to the fountain and forces him to sit down. It's embarrassing how easily he goes. The concrete is cold through his pajama pants and the impact sends a jolt up his spine.

Castiel breathes hard. He doesn't look Dean in the eye. Connard.

Dean puts both hands on his shoulders, then up to his face, "Cas," He says, quieter this time, "Castiel, baby, you're scaring me."

Castiel dares looks now, into the green pit of his eyes. His lip quivers. It's not fair. "I-- Dean, I can't -- I can't--"

A wave of exhaustion crashes over him. Merde. He slumps forward, shaking his head against Dean's shoulder.

"Shit," Dean says, moving a hand to his hair, "Shhh, baby, shhh, it's okay." His hands are warm. A gust of wind blows around them.

“Ce n'est pas juste.”

"Okay,” Dean mutters, not understanding, “Okay, babe."

Eventually, Castiel sniffles. He looks up and Dean is watching him, frowning.

"You better, baby?" He brings his hands up to Cas' face, wiping his cheeks with his thumbs.

“Yes.”

Dean forces himself to smile. "Okay. Let's get you inside, then."

Castiel's legs shake the whole way, and he's acutely aware of the dirt under his nails.

Adra is standing in the kitchen holding a box of tissues when they get inside. Dean grabs them and leads Castiel to the couch where he had been napping.

"De l'eau, s'il vous plaît?" Castiel manages to ask his mother, making a drinking motion with his hand. He falls back onto the couch and props one leg up. Adra hands him a glass and he takes a long, slow drink and he feels it all the way down.

"What's wrong, Castiel?" She asks.

He looks out the window and his eyes throb from the exertion.

"The vegetables are rotten," He admits, his throat tight, "They've barely grown at all this year." He rubs his eyes as a couple tears leak out. "Merde."

“Oh, no,” Adra says. She stands a little ways away from him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Hey..." Dean says, putting a hand on Castiel's thigh. He's seated on the floor, his upper half curled around Cas' legs, genuflecting at the altar of Castiel. "That sucks, dude.”

Castiel shrugs, a headache starting to pull it's way across his forehead, “Whatever. I should just tear the whole thing down, anyway.”

“What?” Dean frowns, “No, dude. It's cabbage, we can plant more.”

He crosses his arms, “Why? I'm too sick to keep it alive.”

Dean huffs and sits up a little, “Well, then ask us for help.”

"I can't,” He bristles.

Dean pinches his nose. "Why not?”

"Because."

“Because why? What's your fuckin' deal, man? Why are you so weird about this?"

Castiel looks away. Dean doesn't get it. Cas has to do it himself, he has to. If he doesn't, she'll-- Oh.

Oh, that's why.

He takes a sharp breath, which makes him cough. "If I let you in, you will take her from me."

Almost Friday.

Dean frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, but Adra cuts in.

“O άλλελός μου;” She asks, “Anna?”

He draws his arms tighter around his chest.

When he doesn't speak for a moment, she continues, “Castiel, you know object permanence?”

What? “Um, yes?”

She looks at the large hosta under the window, while flexing and unflexing her hands. “You're doing it right now.”

He tilts his head, confused.

“Castiel,” She clears her throat and moves her hand to his knee hesitantly, “You think you will lose Anna if you let us into the places you loved her in. You're holding those memories so tightly, like a child clutching his favorite toy to his chest because he does not believe it will still be there if puts it down.”

Oh. Yes, that's it. If he shares her, her will lose her. If he says her name too many times, it will cease to be attached to her and will just become another word, floating meaningless in the ether. Much like Anna herself during her intake at the hospital when they first met: if he says too much, they will take her away from him.

But... She already did that. She already took herself away from him, and he hates her for it.

Merde, Anna. Son meilleur ami.

“Castiel,” Adra says, squeezing his knee and breaking him out of his thoughts, “Let us help, please. Isn't it getting heavy?”

The back of his hand has a tiny, star-shaped scar from where they've had to stick the IVs in over the years. Anna would often reach for it and squeeze his first two knuckles. He didn't know quite what she meant by it, but she did it regularly: Them parting on the first day they met. A thank you for paying her back for the frappe they split at the mall that one time. Adding the finishing touches on the _Bumblebees Welcome_ sign they hang on the garden's back gate. _Anna was here_ , the gesture seemed to say.

He hates her for leaving, almost as much as he loves her in spite of it.

It is getting heavy. It's been getting heavy for a long, long time.

“She--” He starts, tearing his gaze away from his mother's as all the emotions he's kept down for years fight to come up at once, “Anna loved the garden as much as I did. The pieces were all there, but she brought them together. She was... She asked the right questions; When a crop died, or grew sideways, she would ask 'why?' and we would work from there. She didn't let me dig it up and start over, like I wanted to do. Anna--” He swallows, “Anna made the garden what it is. She was so... So...” He buries his face in his hands and says for the first time in his life, “I miss her. I miss her so much.”

He is a little startled when against his thigh, Dean nods. “I bet you do.”

Adra reaches a hand out in slow motion and puts it down on Castiel's shoulder. "40,000 people die by suicide each year. Every single one is a tragedy.”

When he closes his eyes, he can picture her perfectly: her roots growing in dark brown, her multicolored braces, the deep dark stains under her eyes. He sighs. "I keep thinking I could have helped her more if I wasn't stuck on the couch sick. But I was, and I still am. I'm useless, I'm – I'm letting her down.”

Adra pets his shoulder gently, calls him ο άλλελός μου.

“You did the best you could,” Dean says, running his thumb back and forth along the seam of Castiel's pajama pants. “I mean, you told me a few months ago that you can't control what other people do. I hate to say it, Cas, but at the end of the day, the only one who could've saved Anna was Anna.”

Not for the first time, Castiel is very grateful for Dean Winchester. He closes his eyes. “It's not fair,” he whispers.

“No, it isn't,” Adra agrees. “But I guarantee you made her life more bearable by being in it, Castiel.”

He screws his face up and tries not to cry, “It hurts.” He says, “It's so heavy.”

“I know, ο άλλελός μου. Let us carry it for you for a little while.”

He takes a deep breath and does. His body is a hurricane, hate and love and grief all twisting up together inside him. But Adra and Dean hold him close, anchor him until the storm passes. 'Anna was here,' the wind howls, Anna was here, Anna was here.

***

"You're sure you're okay if I go?" Adra asks, leaning against the doorframe as if trying to hold up the house. Her hair is pinned back into a neat bun-braid.

"Yes," Castiel says. A frown pulls at Adra's mouth for a second.

Dean puts a hand on his knee. "Don't worry, Adra, I'm a good nurse." He flashes a smile.

"Alright,” She says, hesitating a little, “I'll be back in an hour." and she goes.

Dean waits until the front door snicks shut before shuffling closer. Cas rests his head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Of course, man."

Silence comes in and sits with them a while. The clock above the mantle tick-tocks and the wind blows leaves across the yard. Dean is warm beside him.

"Hey," Dean says after a few minutes, giving him a Vulcan kiss across his scarred knuckle, "You mentioned something earlier about like, funeral roses? What was that about?"

Cas swallows, "Oh.” He clears his throat, “Right. Uh, that was my original intention for the garden. It was... I wanted to leave a legacy. I could put something beautiful out into the world, something that would last a long time. Last... longer than me."

Dean nods slowly, watching the clock as he chews it over. "So losing the vegetables really threw a wrench in that plan?"

"Yes. It can't be a legacy if it falls apart while I'm still here." He curls up knees to chest, so Dean's hand is trapped between his thigh and stomach. Dean squeezes.

"And it's Anna's legacy, too?"

He hadn't thought of it like that, but, "Yes, I guess so."

“So, no pressure then,” He jokes. Castiel chuckles and Dean squeezes his thigh again. "Well, baby, I meant what I said about helping. Tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it."

He frowns, "I can't ask you to do that."

He huffs, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "Dude. Cas, let me help."

Dean is leaning back on the couch, looking at Castiel steadily. Seriously.

“Okay," He says, "Yes."

Dean's grin widens and Cas leans over and kisses it, cupping his cheek with one hand.

“Uh,” Dean pulls back, “Hang on, aren't you sick?”

Oh. Right.

Dean considers for a moment, then rolls his eyes, “Well, whatever, c'mere.” He kisses him, tucking his hand behind Cas' ear.

It doesn't take long for the sadness to be put on a back burner. They kiss for a while, Castiel crawling forward and laying across Dean, who wraps his arms around his back and holds tight. At one point, Castiel braces his arms on either side of him and Dean looks up at him, full of wonder. Castiel leans down at the same time Dean leans up and they kiss.

Dean tastes of something spicy and Castiel swallows it up like he can't get enough. He can't, really; Dean is warm and alive under him, seeping his heat into Castiel and he loves it, needs it like he needs air.

They stay like that for a while, kissing firmly until Cas puts his hands on Dean's shoulders and Dean puts his on his hips. They kiss softer and softer and softer until they stop all together and pull back.

Dean smiles, "Hey, Castiel."

Castiel smiles back. "Hello, Dean." He looks down, “Um. Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Just... For being you.”

“Oh. Yeah, any time, Rocketman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss you, E.
> 
> If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please reach out. You are needed here and loved in ways you can't possibly imagine.
> 
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> https://www.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines  
> https://www.thetrevorproject.org/


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for John and some references to sex

Dean stares at his textbook, willing it to make sense. He huffs and scrubs his face with his hands, hoping it'll help. But, alas, even as he stares the page continues to be written in fuckin' Greek. Well, maybe not Greek, 'cause then Cas would be able to help him with it. Latin? Chinese? Something like that. Either way, fuck this.

He gets up and goes to the fridge. There's the weird yogurt Sam likes, and some coldcuts that don't smell too bad, milk, and eggs. He grabs a slice of ham and rolls it around a slice of cheese.

The kitchen table is covered in crap. Jesus. He just cleaned this, what, last week? Ew. Dean holds the ham and cheese roll between his teeth and stacks loose papers on top of one another, consolidates the pens and markers, and collects the used napkins into a pile, nearly gagging when he has to touch them.

He drags the trashcan over, dumping in the napkins and any of the pens with mysterious gunk on them.

"What are you doing?" John asks.

Dean jumps. "Uh, cleaning?"

"Those were organized." He starts unstacking the papers.

Dean grits his teeth, "You haven't touched them in a week. At least keep them in a folder or something."

John knocks a pile over, scattering the pages everywhere, "Now look what you did. I knew where everything was before."

Dean takes a deep breath. A recent conversation with Castiel rings in his ears. 'A good parent wouldn't treat you like that, Dean. Don't let him.' Dean looks at John, really looks at him: his shirt with a hole in it, his face a couple days unshaven, the hard line of his mouth, and tries to reconcile it with the Dad he remembers, the one who hum while he cleaned, and fall asleep watching baseball games, and would swing Dean above his head just to get him to laugh.

He can't. There's nothing of the old John left. Dean's heart breaks when he says, "So pick it up."

John blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Dean swallows down his apology, "No. Pick it up! I'm tired of cleaning up your shit, Dad."

John stills for a moment, then explodes, "Where the hell is this coming from? You know what, you're an ungrateful son of a bitch! I'm your father! After everything I've done to keep this family together--"

Dean actually laughs, a hurt little sound in the back of his throat.

This, evidently, is the wrong thing to do, because John loses it. We swears, he rants, he calls Dean every name under the sun. Dean stands there and takes it.

Somewhere in the middle, Sam stumbles out of his room and stares between them. Usually he's the one on the receiving end of John's wrath. Yeesh. Dean gets it now.

"You..." John points, his hard eyes swiveling between his sons, "Both of you, get out. Get out, I don't want to look at you."

Dean's heart breaks for a second time.

He glances at Sam and nods, grabbing his jacket and shoes on the way out the door.

Dean tears down the highway, AC/DC at top volume. Sam curls up in the passenger seat, not complaining. He doesn't have a destination, just wants to be anywhere else.

They fly passed the pet shop, the fire station, and are halfway to the middle school before Dean takes a sharp turn into the woods. Under the cover of the trees, he slows down to a normal speed as the road twists and twines.

"Um," Sam says, putting one foot on the floor and turning the radio off, "So what happened?"

Dean grits and ungrits his teeth, "I'm tired of it, Sammy," He says, "I'm tired of the way he treats us."

Sam does his best to hide his indignant snort in a fake cough.

"Uh. Yeah, he sucks."

Dean pulls over and puts his hazards on. He sighs, wishing he had a joint between his lips. His hands are shaking. "Fuck," He whispers, "Shit."

"Was that the first time you've talked back to him?"

"Pretty much. Heh, I'm fuckin' pathetic, aren't I?" He smiles ruefully.

"Nah,” Sam grimaces, “I'm just surprised it took you so long."

He eyes his little brother, "Yeah. I guess I just... It wasn't always like that. You were too young to remember, I think, but I do and I just... I wanted things to go back to normal."

"Yeah," Sam says quietly, "Me, too."

They sit together watching flower petals skitter across the road as the song fades out.

“Can't wait forever, huh?” He muses.

“No. I mean you can, but you probably shouldn't.”

“Right.”

It's quiet for a while.

"Do you ever get, like, uncomfortable?" He asks, biting his lip, "Like, around other families?"

"What d'you mean?"

He turns away, "I dunno, like, the first time I went to Jess' house, her parents were really... I dunno. They kept asking me questions and stuff, about bookclub or you or whatever. It was weird."

"Oh. Yeah, dude, I get that all the time."

Sam raises his eyebrows, "Really?"

"Yeah. Charlie's parents? Fuckin' saints, they are, but I literally had to go outside to get away from it at one point."

He frowns, "You didn't tell me that. You coulda called."

He shrugs, "Eh, you were with Kevin. I called Cas though."

"Mmm. When I have kids, I'm not gonna be like Dad."

Dean reaches over and ruffles his hair, "Good plan."

***

"Yeah. Yeah, no, we're fine, it was just a lot of yelling. Yeah. Okay. Alright. See you then."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, he's pissed. We can stay the night, though."

"Sweet."

There are still mounds of snow clustered around tree trunks and beneath large statues. Mary's grave is icy, so Dean spends a few minutes chipping away at the bits frozen around her name. Sam clears debris from the foot of the grave.

"What was she like?" He asks in a small voice.

Dean pauses.

"Um." He hasn't actually talked about her in a long time, "She was... Bright. She laughed a lot, especially at you. She thought you were the cutest baby to ever live, besides me of course."

"Hey!"

"It's true. Umm, she liked baseball. Her and Ellen would always watch the games together. She couldn't stand dogs, I think she was bit by one as a kid or something. Umm. Geez, I dunno, what else do you wanna know?"

Sam digs his heel into the ground, "Um. Do you have any memories of me and her?"

Hm. "She would sing you Hey Jude to get you to fall asleep. And every night she'd tell us angels were watching over us. And... she loved you, Sam, she really did."

He screws up his face, his glasses sliding down his nose, "I wish... I wish I could remember her."

He heaves a big sigh, "I know, man. I do, too."

Dean puts an arm around him and he tucks his around Dean's back. They stand like that for a while, staring at their mother's grave together.

***

"Heya Bobby," Dean grins.

Bobby backs up to give them some room, "Good to see you boys. Wish it were under better circumstances."

"Same here."

They shuffle in and Dean leans down to give him a hug.

"I don't suppose you two packed a bag? Toothbrushes?"

He grimaces, holding out his empty hands, "Nope." He has his school bag, but that's it, and Sam doesn't have anything.

Bobby shuts his eyes for a second, "Son of a bitch. Alright, well, I should have extras."

"Thanks," Sam says.

Bobby eyes him, "Don't mention it, kid."

It turns out Bobby has a collection of their clothes from all their various visits and overnights, or ones that got mixed in with his laundry. "I've been looking for this shirt!" Sam says, pulling out a purple tee with a horrendous greyhound on the front.

"Oh God," Dean says, covering his eyes, "Can you re-lose it?"

Sam rolls his eyes and takes it with him.

All in all, it's a good night. They get settled and put a movie on. Bobby orders Chinese.

He's putting dishes away when Dean wanders in to root through the fridge.

"I can make a roast tomorrow night," He offers.

Dean hesitates, "Um. We don't wanna impose."

"Nonsense," He scoffs, "You boys are family. I'm gonna give John a talking to later, don't you worry. But you and Sam stay as long as you'd like. I mean it."

Dean takes a deep breath and shuffles over, "Um. Thanks, Bobby."

"Anytime." He looks away for a second, "So, uh, how's Cas?" His voice has a certain weight to it that makes Dean's pulse jump, but in a good way.

He swallows, "Um. He's good. I've been helping him in the garden. It's pretty fun, actually."

"Good," Bobby looks away again. His eyes can't seem to stay in one spot, "So. You know, when I was your age, I started seeing this young lady—"

Dean's eyes go wide, "Oh sweet Jesus, stop. Stop! My God, Bobby, just give me a pamphlet or something!"

Bobby turns red, "I'm just tryin' to help you, boy."

Dean pinches his nose, "I don't... I'm good, thanks." He thinks about telling Bobby they haven't had sex yet – Dean's barely gotten his pants off -- but if he does he thinks he'll die of embarrassment.

Instead, he all but sprints back to the living room. Sam glances at him and smirks. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Bobby tried to give me the sex talk."

Sam snorts and makes room on the couch, "It can't be any worse than the one you gave me."

"Hey, I was efficient!" Dean says, flopping down beside him.

"You handed me a box of condoms and said 'don't be stupid'."

"And? Have you been stupid?"

Sam scoffs, "Fuck off."

"See?"

Sam hits him with a pillow, "I hate you."

"No you don't."

Bobby wheels in a little while later and they finish the movie, Godzilla vs. Superman. It's awesome. All in all, it's a pretty good night.

***

There's a book on Dean's bed when he goes upstairs that night. _The Joys of Gay Sex_ by Charles Silverstein. Blushing furiously, he tucks it into his backpack, and goes to bed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for references to suicide, discussions of sex, and and off-screen sexual encounter

It's cool out, just the beginning of spring, but warm enough to be bearable when one moves around. Dean's shirt is stretched tight over his back, damp from exertion, and Castiel takes a moment to admire the way it clings to him. He stops digging a couple minutes later and leans on the handle of the shovel.

"It's no wonder you need help with this stuff, Cas," He pants, “This is hard fuckin' labor.”

Castiel smiles, “I appreciate it. Anna was the one who turned the compost back in the day.”

He nods, then says, "I think you just want me all hot and sweaty."

Castiel shrugs, not denying it, and Dean blushes.

He picks the shovel up again, turning away. "Can you spare some energy to get me a glass of water?"

"Of course." He hops down from the edge of the fountain, his knees creaking. He feels Dean's eyes on him on his way back inside.

As he's filling up a glass, Adra comes by with a laundry basket under one arm.

"Good afternoon," He says.

She pauses her audiobook. "Oh, hello, Castiel. How's it coming?"

"It's good."

Adra nods, looking out the back door. Outside, Dean waves. "Good, good. Did you figure out what's wrong with the hydrangeas?"

“Not yet, but we're getting to that next.”

She nods, "Let me know what you find out.” She glances out the back window, “Is Dean staying the night?"

Cas rocks back on his feet. "Yes." He doesn't look his mother in the eyes.

Adra glances at the island and starts to say something.

"Thank you, μαμά." Castiel interrupts.

Adra laughs.

Back outside, a warm breeze has picked up. Dean takes the glass from Castiel and smiles before downing it in one go.

Turning the compost doesn't take too long after that. Dean rambles about an antique car someone brought to Bobby's garage that he's been tasked with fixing up. He lights up as he talks, unselfconscious, although he gets a little distracted whenever he looks over at Castiel. Castiel nods while he listens.

Afterwards, Cas takes his turn, explaining the plot of The Aeneid, which he is reading in Greek.

"I like the sound of Aeneus," Dean says, squatting down in front of the hydrangea.

"Of course you do, you see yourself as a tragic hero,” He shrugs.

"Ouch, dude,” He says, clutching his chest.

Cas smirks.

It's a good day.

Adra is sitting at the kitchen table reading when they come back in.

"Hello, boys."

"Hey Adra, whatcha readin'?" Dean asks.

She holds it up – Vonnegut, _Slaughterhouse Five._

"Cool, looks good.” He raps his knuckles on the table, “Hey, do you mind if I use the shower?"

"Go right ahead." She uses her book to gesture up the stairs.

Castiel kisses him off, which leaves him alone with his mother. She puts the book down.

"How are you?" She asks. She has been asking just about every time she sees him the last few days. He doesn't really mind, even the answer hardly changes.

"I'm... Okay." He says, taking the seat across from her.

“Oh?”

He looks out the window, where a shovel is sticking out of the ground in the vegetable plot. “It's strange. Doing it without her.”

“I bet.” Adra says, stirring her coffee, “Sometimes I – I'll look out there and still expect to see her sitting on the edge of the fountain, one hand in the water. You know.”

“I do know. I think about it, too.” He takes a deep breath, in, hold, out. After a moment, he adds, "Um, mother?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you choose Accounting and not History?"

She puts her mug down, pinky finger first. "Oh. Um, I thought about it for a while. I was a history major during my first year, but then I got pregnant, and I decided on something a little more..." She pauses, tasting the right words on her tongue, "Lucrative? Stable? And I like it well enough."

"Do you ever want to go back to school?"

She thinks for a moment, "Sometimes. I couldn't when you were young, of course, but now that you're older, maybe.”

Castiel swallows a couple times, "Do you... do you regret the decisions you made?"

She eyes him a moment, pursing her lips, "If it was a choice between you and history, Castiel, I'd rather have you."

He sighs, relieved, “Oh.”

"Where is this coming from?" She asks, frowning a little.

He waves a hand, "Όχι. With graduation so close, I've just been thinking about the future."

"It's a scary thing,” She nods.

"Yes, it is."

She leans over. "Anything in particular you're thinking about?"

He tenses."The usual." He gestures to his chest. Upstairs, the shower turns on. "The... Dean of it all."

"Ah.” She is pensive for a moment, looking from her coffee to her son to the stairs. “You know, I get the impression you'd have to move heaven before you moved Dean."

"This is true. He's very stubborn."

"Right. My point is, I don't think he's going anywhere. But don't take my word for it, you should ask him."

Oh. Right, he probably should.

Adra reaches out and touches his wrist, "Come here, ο γιος μου." He goes over, and she puts her hands in his, smiles up at him. "Το αγόρι μου."

Looking into her sky-blue eyes, he realizes with the sudden ferocity of a summer storm that this is his mother, the only person who has known him his entire life, and this was the first real conversation they have had in years.

"Um," He stutters, suddenly nervous. She watches him with the even, nonjudgemental concern she always has. In an instant, he's sixteen again with her hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently towards the casket Anna sleeps in. He's eleven, watching in awe as she explains the story behind every painting in the exhibit: the artist's life, the type of paint they used and how they mixed it, and how this piece fits into the themes of the rest of their work.

He's six, and he's coughing so hard his whole body hurts; he's been in agony for two days with it, and every time he jolts awake she's by his side, stroking his hand with her thumb. He's four, fingers and nose numb with cold, throwing leaves at her across the lawn, chasing her with them until he falls down wheezing with laughter.

"Μαμά," He whispers, his eyes welling with tears, "Το μαμά μου."

"Oh, Castiel, what's wrong?"

He blinks, "Um. " He steadies himself and swallows the lump in his throat, "Nothing. I've just missed you. What, um, what say you we go out this weekend? Just the two of us?"

A smile spreads slowly across her face, as if she's forgotten how and the muscles need reminding, "Yes, Castiel, I'd love to."

He smiles back and an incredible weight is lifted from his chest.

***

Dean is splayed out on Castiel's bed, shirtless, one hand tucked behind his head while the other scrolls lazily through his phone. He's different than Castiel in many respects: where Cas is skinny and hairy, Dean is solid, with a square frame and barely any visible chest hair. But he's is pretty sure the way their hearts are pounding right now is the same.

Finally, finally, The Vest shuts off and the room goes quiet. Castiel coughs and spits a wad into a tissue, adding it to the pile. Its strange taking it off, like losing a second skin, but he breathes way easier once it's gone. He takes a few deep, slow breaths, and clears his throat a couple times.

Dean looks up and grins, "Hey, baby, welcome back."

"Hello, Dean."

He tucks The Vest back in between his nightstand and desk. Dean puts his phone away.

He smiles at him and licks his lips. "So Adra's really cool with this?"

"With what?"

"Like," Dean flushes, "Like us spending the night together. Alone."

He squints, "Why? Because we might have sex?"

He blushes harder, "Uh. Yeah?"

"I don't see why not,” He shrugs, “She got pregnant with me when she was my age. Besides,” He makes a face, “I'm personally glad our first time won't be in the back of your car.”

“Hey, what's wrong with my baby?”

“Nothing, dear.” He rolls his eyes.

“Damn right nothing.”

He sighs and strips his shirt off. Dean makes a noise.

"Yes?" Cas asks, crawling over to his boyfriend and seating himself on Dean's lap.

"Uh," Dean mumbles, moving his hands around but not placing them, like he's not sure where they should go, "I just, uh, wasn't expecting that."

Cas kisses him and smiles into it, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, definitely.”

Castiel has _non timebo mala_ tattooed across his chest in swirling black letters. Dean reaches out and runs his fingertips over it, making him shiver. He lays his hand flat over Cas' heart and just... looks at him, smiling like he's not totally aware he's doing it. Cas takes a deep breath and Dean's hand rises and falls with it.

"I love you," Dean says.

Oh. Cas' breath catches in his throat, which makes him cough again.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean laughs, “That was weird, I felt that."

"I'm glad my illness is amusing.”

Dean huffs and looks away, "Cut me some slack, Rocketman, I just, like, confessed my love and whatever."

Oh, right. Castiel cups Dean's chin and turns his head back to face him. He is looking in Dean's eyes when he says, "Good news, idiot, I love you, too."

Dean snorts, “Hah, gay.”

“Very.” He smiles.

They take a moment and breathe together in, hold, out.

Dean leans in, pressing their foreheads together. He grins, “So. Sex?”

“Sex.” Castiel nods. They sit there in silence for a moment and Dean sweeps his eyes over Castiel. As the heat builds, Cas feels the need to clarify, "Nothing, um, penetrative," He wrinkles his nose. "But I do want you to touch my dick."

It takes Dean three seconds for his brain to come online, but when it does he smiles hard, "Oh, yeah, fuck-- hell yeah, man, I can do that." He winks.

"Thank you," Castiel says, and leans over to kiss him. Dean kisses back, hard, into Castiel. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

***

They mouth at each other for a few minutes while they recover. Eventually, Cas catches his breath enough to lean over and clean them both off with a t-shirt. He reaches a cold foot out and wraps it around Dean's ankle, laughing when Dean makes a face. He coughs. He's exhausted, but he's alive, awake, his whole body thrumming where they touch. He traces patterns onto Dean's back, over his shoulderblades. "Love you," He murmurs. It sits warmly in his chest, beating like his heart. Dean, Dean, Dean.

Dean kisses his chin, "Love you too, man."

He nuzzles into him, and he kisses him again and traces a hand down his spine.


	16. Chapter 16

"Remind me why we have to wear these stupid things?" Sam whines, pulling at his tie. Dean forced him out of bed at stupid AM by dropping Gabe on him, claws and all, and shoved this monkey suit at him.

"It's dress code," Dean explains, glancing back.

He slides as far down as he can in his seat, "Uuggghhhh."

Castiel looks back and gives him a sympathetic grimace. He had been almost as hard to wake as Sam, apparently, and Sam got a rare look at his morning routine in the kitchen, pills, inhalers, and a big machine vest thing all lined up on the table. Cas was half-asleep going through it, but apparently he's had enough practice he can do it all with ease.

Sam huffs and his breath fogs up the window, where he draws a flower and a smiley face.

They're driving near the mall, Sam recognizes the sign for the coffeeshop down the street. Kevin's going to a high school near here next year, he's pretty sure. In fact, after a few minutes, Dean swings into a parking lot for said high school. It's twice the size of Dean's school, with big white pillars out front holding up the overhand. There are dozens of families scattered around outside, and a lot of kids in long black dresses or white shirt-black pants combo. Most of them are clutching instrument cases, from a foot-ling square box to a curvy box taller than Sam. Ellen is standing near the curb, and waves when she spots Dean's car.

Dean lets them out and goes to find a parking space.

“Ellen!” He says, and goes to hug her. She's dressed well too, and Sam is jealous of her flannel tucked into dark-wash jeans. 

“Howdy Sam, Cas.”

“Where's Jo?”

“In the back practicing, she was up til midnight trying to get it right.”

Just then, a familiar voice calls out to him, “Hey, Sam!”

He spins around to find Kevin rushing over, lugging a cello case as big as he is. They hug, Kevin breathing hard.

“Glad you could make it!”

“Me too,” Sam says, smiling, “How do you feel?”

Kevin grimaces, “Nervous.”

“I bet. But you'll do great! You've worked really hard.”

“I hope so. Thanks. ” He glances around and everyone's started to migrate inside. Sam claps him on the shoulder and lets him go.

They wait for Dean to come up before they go inside themselves and are ushered into a big stage room with movie-theater-like fold-down seats. Someone hands them each little pamphlets for order of performance. Kevin is second, Jo is fourth, and then Jo accompanies a couple other performers on piano. The theater smells a little like drying paint, and Sam can see some theater props tucked into the corner behind the big velvet curtain.

They pick a row near the middle, so they can see the performers, but not so close they have to crane their necks. Castiel sits on the outside, in case he has to rush out for coughing. He and Dean don't hold hands, exactly, but Dean holds an arm out and Cas takes it like they're a couple from Pride and Prejudice.

Sam likes Cas, always has. He talked to Jess for half an hour about the impressionists last time they had dinner together, which she gushed about for the rest of the week. He even lent her a book about Mary Cassatt, an impressionist she hadn't heard of before. Speaking of Jess, he pulls his phone out and has a text from her.

hey you!!! tell kevin I say break a leg!

and please enjoy this portrait of sir remington the third!

Attached is a picture of her cat lounging in a patch sunlight.

will do!

hello your lordship!!! how doth ye fair today?

he fairs well, he enjoyed some tuna water with breakfast and then chased the mysterious red light!

a hearty morning indeed!

hey I gtg, theyre starting soon

ok!! <3

<3

The theater lights blink once, twice, and everyone falls into a hush. A middle-aged man comes up to the podium and introduces himself as the director, and talks for a while about how proud he is of all the work the performers put in. He thanks the school for letting them use the space, and thanks a few more people before leaving. The lights go down for good and Sam settles in.

The first group out is a trio, two girls and a boy. The girls are on violin and the boy is on bass, and hey play a fast, trilling song that makes Sam think of rabbits running across a countryside, or heroes running from the bad guys before ducking, breathless, into an alleyway. One of the girls has a solo, and Sam stares slack-jawed the whole time. Her bow is a blur, it's incredible.

The audience goes wild as the trio takes their bows. One group, who Sam suspects is the girl's family, wolf-whistle. Then, Kevin's up. He can't see Sam, but Sam gives him a thumbs up anyway. You got this, Kev, he thinks really hard, trying to send the message telepathically. Kevin bites his lip, his brow shining, but as soon as the accompaniment starts, all that goes away and he melts into the music. He plays a slow, somber song, like cold waves crashing over the side of a ship, or a bird hopping across a snow-covered grave. Sam recognizes bits and pieces the song from Kevin playing it in the practice rooms after school, but hearing it all together is something else. It's haunting and beautiful.

Sam claps hard when it's over, and Kevin smiles into the crowd.

The next performer goes, and then it's Jo's turn. She comes out in concert black, her hair gently curled and half of it clipped back. She's totally alone on stage, the lights hiding everything except her and the piano. She unfolds her songbook and cracks her knuckles. Then, she plays. It starts slow, a soft little melody that climbs from one side of the keys to the other, spring waking after winter. Then it explodes, fast, harsh notes, fireworks, canons, couples dancing across a ballroom floor cut with scenes of war.

It dips back down to the quiet melody, then roars again. Jo plays with her whole body, her shoulders swaying in time, her face contorting with each change of pace. The song goes on for several minutes, and Jo flips page after page seamlessly, until finally one sequence falls away, then another, and the room is left with only the little melody from the beginning, birds hopping across still-frozen earth at the first sign of spring, and then nothing.

A moment of silence, and applause rips across the room.

Jo smiles, flushing, and stands to take a bow.

“She's really good,” Sam leans over and whispers.

“Right?” Dean agrees.

A few more folks play, and they're really good. Then there's a brief intermission, and Sam gets up and stretches. Castiel starts coughing and excuses himself, and Dean follows him. Sam watches them leave before he sends Jo and Kevin both congratulations texts.

Dean comes back as intermission is ending with a handful of bright yellow daffodils and no Castiel.

“Where's Cas?”

Dean grimaces, “He started feeling nauseous, so he's hiding out in the bathroom.”

Sam frowns.

hey buddy, how are you doing?

Bad. Thank you for asking.

of course cas.

The house lights flicker once, twice.

shows starting again, gtg

Okay

The rest of the show is amazing. Everyone who performs is just as talented as the last. Jo does amazingly accompanying the different players, and during closing remarks they give her and the other senior a special shout out. Afterwards, they are freed to the hallway lobby while they wait for the players to come back. Castiel is tucked away near the water fountain, looking worn. Sam goes over.

“Hey, how're you doing?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and it comes out in pieces, “Better.” Sam looks around, but there are no chairs. There is an empty spot against the wall where no one's standing, so he shrugs Castiel in that direction.

“Let's sit. If we sit together, no one will think it's weird.”

Castiel looks at him a moment, but he smiles, “Thank you, Sam. How are you?”

“I'm good,” He says, “Sooo ready for high school.”

He coughs as he sits down, “Are you going to the same school as your friends?”

He grimaces, “No, it's like, half and half. Brady and Kevin are going here, and me and Jess are going to yours.”

Castiel opens his mouth, but he is interrupted by a cough, and a cough, and a cough. Eventually, he gives Sam a mournful look.

“We can just sit,” Sam says, “You don't need to talk, that's fine.”

“T-- thank you.”

While Castiel tries to suppress his coughing, Sam watches people go by. A lot of the parents are holding flowers for the kids. He spots Mrs. Tran and waves. Sam tells Cas about the families he recognizes, points out where one dad is standing across the room from the mom because they got divorced a year ago. Castiel nods with his eyes closed, leaning his head back on the cool painted brick.

Jo emerges a few minutes later, back in jeans with her concert dress slung over her shoulder. Dean hands her the daffodils and points in Sam and Cas' direction. She trots over, her brow furrowed. Sam nudges Cas, who flickers his eyes open. She crouches down.

“Glad you guys could make it.”

“Any time!” Sam says.

Castiel tries to say something, but Jo shushes him, “You sleep.” He obliges and shuts his eyes.

They sit for a few more minutes, and Sam finds himself nodding off until Dean comes over and kicks his foot.

“Rise 'n shine, Sammy.”

Sam groans, “It's Sam.”

“Whatever. Help me get Sleeping Beauty up.” 

He does. It takes a few tries, until Sam almost nearly pushes Castiel over and he jerks awake, coughing.

“Woah, hey, please don't murder my – my Castiel,” Dean stage-whispers, “I happen to like him.”

Sam grimaces. Castiel, now awake, smiles warmly at Dean. Dean helps him up with both hands and Castiel stumbles forward into him. Sam looks away.

They say their goodbyes and Dean agrees to meet the Harvelle's for lunch after taking Castiel home. Out in the car, Cas lies down in the back, so Sam gets the passenger seat. Dean doesn't even play music, just lets his boyfriend sleep.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Mm?”

“Is he like, okay?”

Dean is quiet for a minute, his jaw clenching, “I don't know.”

Sam's heat sinks. “Oh. Okay. Will you ask him when he wakes up?”

“No, I'm just gonna let him suffer. Yes, I'll ask him.”

“Okay, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

They continue the ride in silence. Castiel snores softly from the backseat.

“Um...” Sam starts.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you'd've stayed friends with Jo and Ash if you guys went to different schools?”

Dean looks over at him. “What, are you worried about high school?”

Sam grimaces, running his fingers through his hair, “Kinda?”

Dean shakes his head, “I mean, honestly? You may not stay friends, a lot happens in high school. But me and the gang stayed friends when we moved away the first time. So, like... Part of it is you gotta make a choice to stay in touch. I guess like, I dunno what the future's gonna hold for you, man, but if you put the effort in, it'll work out.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, man. Maybe you can start a book club at the library or something and invite everyone. I'm sure Cas can help you set it up.”

Sam nods and glances back to his friend in the back seat. He's curled up into himself, drowning in his trenchcoat. His face is scrunched in pain, even in sleep. Sam swallows the sudden lump in his throat. He looks back and Dean is staring at the road, hard-eyed, his foot slowly pressing the accelerate.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW hospitals, discussions of medical procedures

Fuck, he's gonna be late. It's an extra ten minutes to Castiel's from Bobby's, and they're leaving for the doctor in twenty. He blows three red lights on the way and nearly misses the turn onto Delacroix. When he finally pulls in, Adra is helping Castiel down the steps. Castiel is in pajamas and his trenchcoat, his hair is mussed, and his breath is coming in quick, shallow bursts. Adra smiles when Dean parks.

“Glad you could make it,” She says. Her voice is calm and even, and it makes something untwist in Dean's stomach. She's carrying a worn backpack over one shoulder.

He and Castiel kiss quick as they gets into the car.

“He will have to stay at the hospital for a while,” Adra explains, tucking the bag under the passenger seat, “This is his overnight bag.”

“Right.” Cas confessed a couple days ago that he was surprised he hadn't needed a hospital stay in a few months, actually. Normally he would go every six and it's been about eight. Of course the universe decided to spite him for it, and he woke up unable to breath yesterday morning. Hence the car ride today. Dean slides into the passenger seat, feet resting on the backpack. Adra's car is small, and not as old as Dean's but only by a decade or two, but the pine air freshener can't cover up the smell of something gone bad and not completely cleaned out. Normally, it would bug the shit out of him, but now he's just grateful for the modicum of distraction it provides.

If Adra's as worried as Dean, she doesn't show it. She reaches back to hold Castiel's outstretched hand like she's done it a million times. She probably has, actually, she's probably done it for longer than Dean's been alive. Fuck.

“So, Dean, what are your plans after graduation?” Adra asks as she zips down the highway.

“Uh,” He swallows, “Everyone keeps asking me that. Is it bad to say I don't know?”

“Not at all.”

He sighs, “I mean, my original plan was to look after Sammy, but now that we're living at Bobby's, it's kind of a moot point, ya know?”

Adra nods, glancing over to him, “I understand. Is there anything you want to do, now that you have time?”

Dean's chest tightens, “Uh, I dunno. Maybe mechanical engineering? I do time at Bobby's auto shop and I like it just fine.”

She makes a thoughtful noise. “It would be a reliable future, everyone has a car and all cars need repaired at some point.”

“Right, exactly.”

“But is it what you want?”

He swallows. “Um.” He doesn't know how to answer that.

“Well,” She glances over again, “Something to think about.”

Sure, right.

She glances at him a couple more times before they lapse into silence. In the back seat, Castiel has begun to snore.

***

Dean expects them to pull up to the regular doctor's office, but Adra goes straight to the hospital that straddles the line between city and suburb, where a couple nurses in colorful scrubs are waiting with a wheelchair. Dean helps Castiel into it and Castiel squeezes his hand before he's whisked away. Adra parks, puts a parking ticket on the dashboard, and carries Castiel's bag inside, Dean right beside her.

There's a big lobby and a front desk. Adra gives their information and the guy hands them visitor stickers. They go up the elevator to floor 16, the intensive care unit also known as Talbot's Landing, after one of the hospital's biggest donors. There, they show their passes and Adra leads Dean to a waiting room with a bunch of tables and chairs separated by half-wall dividers. A family with two parents and a little girl are tucked a cubicle near the window. Adra nods at them and goes to sit down in the opposite corner. She sheds her jean jacket and bag. Dean follows suit, spinning his ring around and around on his finger.

“We have about forty-five minutes for them to get him hooked up and run their tests. Then they'll let him sleep, and I imagines that's when they'll come see us,” She explains.

Dean nods, because it's the only thing to do, “Right. Okay.”

“Would you like me to show you around?”

He looks to the other family, their heads together, talking quietly. Electricity hums through the fluorescent lights and the water cooler in the corner gives the occasional gurgle. The near-silence is suffocating.

“Yeah, sure, a walk sounds nice.”

Adra nods once and gets up. They can leave their things with no problem, apparently. Dean swallows and follows the woman out. She makes small talk with the nurses at the check in, who's hip has been much better since her replacement surgery. Adra shows him down the hall to the coldest water fountain, and at the very end is a window overlooking the highway. Cars whizz by, little specks on far-away earth, blissfully unaware of everything going on behind these walls.

“Uh, Castiel mentioned going to a, uh, support group at the hospital? Was that here?” Dean asks, peering out the window.

Adra nods, “Yes, with Missouri. It was in the chapel a couple floors below us.”

“Did he ever go back after, uh, after he and Alfie broke up?”

She looks out the window as well, biting her lip, “No. I didn't make him. Sometimes I wish I had.”

He shakes his head, “I think he needed time, ya know?”

“Mmhm. Missouri does stop by to see him sometimes when he's here. Would you like to meet her?”

Dean would be honored. “Uh, sure.”

She goes back over to the desk, “Is Missouri in?”

“Yes'm, she's in a group now, but she gets out at 1.” They have fifteen minutes.

The chapel is across the hospital and down a few levels, so they get there by the time the meeting is letting out. A few folks mill around, some of them pour coffee or have a donut, but when Adra makes herself known, Missouri politely shoos them out.

“Adra, my dear,” She says. She's a stout woman with thick grey curls and dark brown skin. She hugs Adra and then turns her gaze on Dean, who feels somehow like she knows everything about him. “Who's this?”

“Oh, this is Dean,” Adra says. She hesitates, “Castiel's...”

“Boyfriend,” He finishes for her.

If Missouri is surprised, she doesn't show it.

“Well, Dean, it's lovely to meet you.” She ushers them into a seat and offers them each a donut, which they take to be polite and he leaves on the adjacent chair.

Missouri is one of the hospital psychologists. The group Castiel was a part of was her teen group for those with chronic illnesses, but she runs a few others. The one that just got out was for family of kids with terminal illnesses. Dean thinks of the family he saw in the waiting room.

The women talk for a while, Adra griping about work and medications and getting older. Dean kinda zones out, but their voices are soothing background noise.

“So, Dean,” Missouri says, turning her attention on him, “What do you do?”

Dean blanks, “Uh, I'm graduating high school this month. Otherwise I'm a waiter at the Roadhouse and I put in some hours at my – my dad's auto shop. Oh, I help Castiel with the garden, too.”

She nods thoughtfully, “How long have you and him been together?”

“A few months now? It feels like forever though.”

She smiles and takes another look at him, “Coming in here can get lonely, so it's a good thing he has you.”

He blushes. They talk for a while, and he winds up telling them about the time he got his foot stuck in the sink at the Roadhouse and it totally destroyed his new shoes, which makes both women laugh. At the end of his story, Adra checks her watch and jumps up.

“Ah, his testing should be done.”

And with that, all the light has left the room. Dean's chest gets tight. Missouri puts a hand on his knee and squeezes.

“He'll be alright, Dean. But if you need an ear, you know where to find me.

He swallows, “Um, yeah. Thanks.”

They say their goodbyes and Missouri gives them each a tight hug.

“Good to meet you,” He says.

“Likewise, Dean. Don't be a stranger.”

And back up the stairs they go, Adra glancing back at him.

Dean's shaking a little when they get back to the waiting area. The other family has gone, thankfully, but Dean keeps glancing at the door, expecting them to barge in any second. They don't, but just as they sit down, a woman in a long white coat comes in. She's tall with curly blonde hair. Adra seems to recognize her, and stands up. Dean follows.

“Adra, hi,” The woman – doctor? – says.

“Doctor Marilyn, hello. This is Dean, a friend of Castiel's.”

Dr. Marilyn nods, “Ah, this is Dean. I've heard good things. Castiel gave me permission to speak with you, actually. Um, may we talk?” They nod. The doctor closes the door and draws the shades. “Have a seat.”

The chair Dean chooses is understuffed and too close to the ground. It's a relief that the doctor and Adra are no better off, crammed into tiny chairs themselves. It's hard to be dignified when your knees are crushed against your chest, but by God do they try. Dr. Marilyn sits across from him, the coffee table in between, and folds her hands in front of her. She's wearing a wedding ring.

“So, I'll cut to the chase. Castiel's lung function is deteriorating fast. We can keep him stable while he's here, but we are recommending he undergo a double lung transplant surgery. Now, other than a slight arrhythmia his organs are very strong, which makes him a good candidate for the surgery.”

Oh, fuck. Dean glances over and Adra is staring at nothing, her mouth a thin line.

She nods rapidly a few times.

Dr. Marilyn swallows, “There is one issue, however.”

Shit. Adra leans forward, “Yes?”

“There aren't any lungs currently available for him.”

She glances over to Dean and they have a shared moment of, Oh, shit.

“Um,” Dean says. “Um, what does that mean?”

Dr. Marilyn regards him evenly, “Good question, Dean. It means he is put on a waiting list. He's young, so he should be at the top, but... especially looking for two good lungs instead of one, it will take a while.”

God damn, fuck. Shit. Dean squeezes his fist against the arm of the chair.

“Mon dieu,” Adra mutters, “Will he be okay waiting that long?”

Dr. Marilyn pauses a second before answering, “We have him on medication now that reduces inflammation and is helping him sleep. We will do everything we can for him. He's in good hands.”

There's silence for a few moments. Adra's shoulders begin to shake, and it takes Dean a second to realize she's crying.

“I'll give you two some time,” The doctor says, giving them a sympathetic nod. Dean waves her off and she heads out, closing the door behind her.

He reaches out tentatively and puts a hand on Adra's shoulder. She turns to him and clings, gripping tight to his shoulder. It's not long for him to cling back, his own eyes welling with tears.

“Oh, αγόρι μου,” She mutters, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“Right? Geez.”

Merde.

***

Dean doesn't know how much time passes, sitting in that waiting room. It doesn't really matter. A nurse will let them know when Castiel wakes up. Fuck. Adra has gone to get something from the vending machine, promising to bring him back a soda, and Dean stares at nothing while he waits. There are four empty water cups on the table, neatly stacked inside one another. It reminds him of those little Russian dolls; Castiel would probably know what they're called, but Dean can't for the life of him remember.

He does some research on his phone, and discovers that half of double-lung transplant patients live for five years after the surgery. Cas would have to be on immunosuppressants to make sure his body doesn't reject the the new lungs, but it would give him a fighting chance.

He'd be 24 then.

He's 19 now.

Dean closes his eyes and his phone, not wanting to think about it. His body hurts. Nothing specific, just a vague, dull ache everywhere. He doesn't bother to get up and stretch, but he considers it.

Adra comes back a couple minutes later, soda in one hand and plastic-wrapped snacks in another. She sighs as she sits down. Dean pops the soda tab. Eugh, it's lukewarm, but better than nothing.

“I never had these growing up,” Adra says, gesturing to one of the snacks, a very flat, very large cinnamon bun, “My parents made me dinner at home every night, so I never had the opportunity. After I had Castiel though, well, we would be in and out of here every six months, and eventually my hunger won out. This one was my favorite.” She takes a bite, shaking her head, “God, it's horrible.”

Dean holds out his hand and she gives him a piece. It takes like preservatives with an afterthought of cinnamon. “You said it, Ma,” He says, “You know, Cas has never had a cheese dog?”

Adra nods, “I really appreciated the meals I had growing up, and I wanted him to have the same experience.”

Dean feels like he's just been insulted, but he's not totally sure. “Yeah, but, cheese dogs.” He says empathically.

She looks at him with one eyebrow raised. He shakes his head. Some people!

He looks away. Out in the hallway, the parents who were waiting in here earlier go by.

“He, uh, doesn't mention your family much,” Dean says, half statement, half question.

Adra grimaces, “He wouldn't. My parents both died when he was very young, and I didn't have any brothers or sisters. I believe my mother has a sibling out west somewhere, but I'm not sure.”

Dean nods, reaching out for another piece of her pastry.

“Musta been lonely,” He says.

She shrugs, “Not for me. I had books, and I had Castiel; that was all I needed. But I do wonder if it ever got to him.”

He knows the feeling: He and Sam curled up in the back seat, the road ahead, the sunset behind. They made friends in the places they stopped, but most of the time they didn't stick around long enough to really matter to anyone. Some days it felt like they were the only two people in the world. That was enough, for a while. It was enough until it wasn't.

“We uh, we grew up on the road,” Dean says, “Sam and me. John, too, of course. We lived all over. It was fine, y'know? We had each other. But one day, Dad got a call from Bobby, something about the hardware store up the road needing some guys, and John uh, well, he got off the call, quit his job right there and told us to get packing. We left that night and got here in two days when it should've taken three. I think... I think we missed it, ya know?”

“Mm,” Adra nods, wiping some sticky off on a napkin, “How did you feel about coming back?”

“Honestly? Relieved. We were born here, Sam and I, and we spent some eight or nine years here before we moved. I mean, Bobby and the Harvelles and Ash are all here. This is home.”

Adra takes a drink and looks out the little window in the door aa a gaggle of nurses pass by.

“Hey, Adra?”

She blinks, “Yes?”

“So uh, Bobby Singer.”

“Yes? What about him?”

“Me and the... everyone do monthly family dinners at his place. I guess it's my place, now, too. But uh, you should come by next time.”

“Oh. Um, yes. I'd really like that,” She says, blinking a few times.

After a moment, she smiles. She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, and there they sit, together, in the too-brightly-lit hospital room, where the water cooler burbles and electricity buzzes and the sounds of the city creep up from below. This sucks, it really sucks, but Dean's glad he's not alone.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for hospitals

Castiel awakes with pain shooting in his throat. He lurches up to cough and gets caught on the wires sticking out of his nose. Mon dieu. He crashes back down and coughs into his elbow instead. Everything hurts. Everything hurts. He fumbles for the call button with weak fingers.

A nurse comes in a few minutes later.

“You're awake!” He knows the voice, but he can't focus his eyes to look at her. He makes a pleased noise is the back of his throat, though. “That's no way to talk to your favorite nurse, Castiel, but I'll let it slide this time.”

He grunts appreciatively. She checks his pillows and his catheter and refills the cup of water that has evaporated by his bedside. He's creeping back into consciousness, but everything is fuzzy and far away. The first thing he notices when he can focus his eyes again is that Meg has dyed her hair brown.

“Am I... high?” He asks.

“'Fraid so,” She says, moving his feet over an inch so she can sit on the end of his bed, “How do you feel?”

He assesses, “Very human.”

Meg laughs and pats his foot, which is under a very soft blanket, “Yeah, aren't we all?”

He closes his eyes again and doesn't hear her head out.

***

He wakes again a few hours later, judging by how dark the room has gotten and how quiet it is out in the hall. It hurts to breathe, but the nose tube helps and he can get a few gulps in without coughing. Someone has left a book on his bedside table, along with a note.

He squints at it for a long moment before giving up and pushing the call nurse button. A nurse who is not Meg comes by and reads the note for him. It's from his mother, saying she and Dean came by, that they are missing him dearly, and that they'll be back in in the morning. Castiel thanks the nurse and holds the note close to his heart.

***

Adra is there when he wakes again, along with a large bouquet of flowers. She's reading in the chair and looks up when he stirs. There are plastic snack wrappers balancing on the arm of the chair.

“Καλημέρα,” She says, smiling. Her hair is down, curling around her shoulders.

“Καλημέρα,” He says, his voice hoarse. He reaches for his water and takes a long, slow drink.

“How are you?”

He takes stock, sitting up a little, “About as good as can be expected.”

She smiles a little sadly. “I have presents. The flowers are from Dean,” She says, gesturing to the bouquet. Cas' heart monitor picks up, and Adra laughs, “The library staff were asking about you, too.”

They gift him a teddy bear, a bar of good chocolate, and a card signed by everyone. Sam and Jess get him a little notepad full of their doodles that he can browse through, along with a few blank pages at the end for him to add to. Jo gets him a Baroque CD, and Ash gets him something Adra only gestures to in her purse.

“If these are what I think they are,” She whispers, leaning closer, “I recommend you be discreet.”

Castiel laughs, although it hurts.

“Thank you, μαμά, I will. What time is it?”

She checks her watch, “Almost eleven on Thursday. Are you hungry?” So he's been here for three days already. Mon dieu, he had no idea.

His stomach growls. He props himself up on his pillow and calls for the nurse.

“How's my favorite patient this morning?” Meg asks, checking his vitals.

“A little warm, but alive.”

“That's what I like to hear,” She says, tugging his blanket down a little to give him some breathing room. As she's flipping on his desk fan, she asks, “Are you up for eating, or do I need to make a Scandishake?”

The thought of chewing and swallowing a whole meal makes his stomach churn, “Um, shake please.”

“Alrightie. 'Scuse me, Mom.”

Adra moves to let her into the cabinet.

“I was walking in the gardens before I came in,” Adra says.

“Oh? How was it?”

“Abysmal. It's all impatiens,” She rolls her eyes.

“No,” He rolls his along with her, “I hate impatiens.”

“Me, too.”

“At least they can add some geranium,” He murmurs, “Or begonias.” He coughs and looks around for where to spit. Adra grabs him a plastic cup.

“God forbid a hibiscius.”

He collapses back on his pillow leaving the cup of yuck on the side table, “We will have to file a complaint.”

Meg, now over by the sink, smiles, “I'll let Uriel know.”

“Thank you.”

“Course. I got a venus fly trap for Christmas, actually? You would think between the plant and the cat my house would be bug free, but I guess the cockroaches in my shower didn't get the memo.” She makes a sickface.

“You can actually use them to help break down compost,” Castiel offers.

“Hm,” Meg nods, “Maybe I'll try that. Any tips on how to catch 'em?”

“No.”

Castiel doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he opens them a few minutes later.

“Alright, my friend, breakfast is ready,” Meg announces. She's set up a food tray at his waist. The shake has a red and white striped straw sticking out. He takes a deep breath and clears some mucus before diving in.

***

He's a little more awake after he eats, the food sitting cool and thick in his belly. Adra reads to him for a while, until Meg comes back to do some tests and she has to leave. She comes back afterwards, and they talk about his diagnosis.

“I'm... not surprised,” He admits. He peeks at his mother and coughs a few times.

“Oh?” She scoots the chair closes and takes his hand, her own warm.

He tries to gesture to his chest but his arm is too heavy, “I'm... tired.”

She squeezes his hand and nods, “How do you feel about getting a transplant?”

“I already told Marilyn I want to do it.”

“Oh, good,” She says and her shoulders slump, relieved.

He takes a ragged breath. “How's my garden?” He asks.

“Oh, it's good. Dean and I looked over everything last night. The hydrangeas are coming along now that we've gotten rid of the bugs.”

“Good.”

He sighs, quiet for a moment. The heart monitor picks up.

“What is it, Castiel?”

He hesitates. “I... What if it doesn't work?”

“You've grown hydrangeas before.”

“The treatments.”

“Oh.” She is quiet for a moment, “The doctor said your odds are good, considering.”

“But what if it doesn't?”

“I don't know!” She snaps. She freezes, then softens, “Sorry. I don't know, Castiel.” She grimaces and reaches for him, tentative.

He gives a small nod and she touches his face, runs the back of her fingers down his cheek.

He clears his throat. It must be cloudy out; The light coming through the window in the corner is pale and tinted blue, “I think I want to be alone for a little while.”

“Okay,” She says, touching his forehead, “Anything for you ο άλλελός μου.”

She goes with a promise to be back that evening if he wants to see her. He promises that he will. When she's gone, he scoots into a half-sitting position and props his legs up. He reads for a while; It's one of those mystery pulp novels that little old ladies like to read, and it's not very good, but it passes the time as the pain starts to ease just a little. Meg comes by to give him his lunch – another shake, all he can manage. When he finishes it, he asks her if he can go on a walk. She hesitates.

“Please?” He asks, “I heard there was some... interesting grafitti near the geriatric ward and I want to see it for myself.”

Meg squints at him, “Now, who could've told you that?”

“The night nurse.”

She shakes her head, “Damn it, Balthazar. Someone needs to talk to him about not gossiping with patients.” She puts her pen down and sighs, “Fine. But only because of your tip about the cockroaches. If you so much as think about falling, you're not leaving this bed for a week.”

He grins. Ah, Meg. She checks his vitals and hooks him to a mobile IV. He's a little shaky when he stands, but it passes. He does take Meg's offered arm though, and they shuffle out into the hall.

Talbot's Landing is the same endless, perma-flourescent hallway as any other floor of any other hospital. The only difference is ithat this one is as familiar to Castiel as his own home: there's a water stain they haven't managed to get out yet outside the women's restroom that Castiel thinks looks like a mother and child, but Meg thinks it looks like a monster with it's mouth wide open. They've had this argument many times, and they have it again now, but half-heartedly as Castiel's breath is coming in gasps and wheezes.

He knows which lights will flicker and when as they shuffle down the hall. The bulletin board they pass is stapled with colorful but faded construction paper with the name and photo of every nurse on the floor and what shift they work. Meg's photo is a few years old now, from when her hair was cut a short, choppy blonde. He prefers the brown. He tries to tell her this, but the room has started to spin. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

They get to the end of the hallway and he stops, breath coming in even shorter gasps. He draws his hand back from Meg's arm and his heart goes wild. His eyes go wide. A deep, stabbing pain slashes him from the inside.

Black spots pulse in the air and all at once, everything goes dark.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for John, and discussions of death, depression and suicide

Dean chews on a mouthful of pulled pork, not really tasting it. He checks his phone for the millionth time. Still nothing. Damn it.

He looks down for another bite of his sandwich and finds the plate empty. Oh.

“Hey kid,” Bobby says, wheeling in and parking his chair on the other side of the table.

“Hey, Bobby.”

“How was it?” He gestures to the empty plate.

Dean frowns, “Um. I don't know?” He says honestly.

“Figured. You want anything else?” He grunts, pulling open the fridge.

He bites his lip, “Um. We have potatoes, right? What about those fries you make?”

Bobby was in charge of snacks for Sam's soccer games a few years ago, and his french fries had been legendary. He still makes them occasionally, usually only if someone asks.

“Yeah, we can do that.” He gets out the potatoes, a cutting board, and a large knife. “Y'hear from Cas yet?” He asks while facing away.

Dean sighs and glances at his dark phone screen, “Not yet. Adra's heading over now, though, so hopefully I'll have an update within the hour.”

Bobby grunts. He studies the potatoes for a second before holding one out. “You wanna wash these for me and I can get to choppin'?”

That was Dean's job as a kid, when Sam was too little to help out. He takes the potato, “Sure.”

It's a welcome distraction actually, running the potatoes under hot water and scraping dirt out of the eyes. Methodical, kinda like working on the car. It keeps his mind from running around in circles anyway.

He's halfway through washing a third potato when there's a knock at the door. He and Bobby look at each other and Dean shrugs. He goes to open it and when he does his heart stops. Standing on the porch is John, his hands jammed into his pockets, a box of grocery store cookies under one arm. He's a couple days unshaven and his eyes are bloodshot. “Dean,” He says, smiling.

Dean stiffens. He wants to turn away. Everything in his body is telling him to turn away. “Sir.”

John looks him up and down and nods.

“Dean. I've been thinking about it, and I think it's time you came home,” He says. Dean manages to take a step back, and John's eyes flash for a second before he regains control. He forces a smile, “We're family, kiddo. We're all each other's got.”

Suddenly, there's a warm hand on Dean's elbow and Bobby is rolling up beside him.

“John.” Bobby says, his eyes steely. He moves his blanket back to reveal a small revolver.

“Bobby...” He says, raising his eyebrows in a challenge. “I was just saying to Dean here--”

“I know what you were saying,” Bobby grunts, “And he don't wanna hear it.”

John frowns. “He's my son, Bobby. You're not gonna let me have a conversation with my son?”

“No.” He glares and John frowns. “Please, with the way you've been treatin' him, he's more your solider than your son.”

John glares, “Listen--”

“I don't wanna hear it,” He cocks the gun and points it, “Now git the fuck off my porch.”

John takes a long look from Dean to Bobby to the gun, does an about face, and marches off the property.

Dean doesn't realize how badly he's shaking until the door swings closed and Bobby turns to face him.

“Fuck,” Dean says, not to anyone in particular.

“Damn right, fuck,” Bobby grunts. He tosses the gun on the table and frowns at Dean. He clenches his fist on the arm of his chair, “Y'alright, son?”

He swallows a few times. He takes a deep breath in, hold, out, “Um.”

Bobby looks away and stares at the table for a minute. “Look, kid, you don't gotta worry about him any more. You got me.” He sighs. “I think... Sometimes I think part of his soul died when Mary did.”

He snorts despite himself, “Yeah, uh, it definitely did. Still not, still not an excuse, though.”

“No,” Bobby says, “No, it ain't.”

The gun on the table is a little revolver, less than palm-sized, and it reminds Dean of the colt on the Roadhouse wall. He looks at Bobby and Bobby looks away, mouth twisting into a not-quite grimace.

“How did you deal with it?” He asks, “Losing Karen, I mean.”

Bobby takes a deep breath and doesn't look at him.

“I didn't, for a while. It was like the whole world stopped turnin'.”

“Oh.”

Bobby licking his lips, “I – Eventually, I decided I'd had enough of it. I uh, I did some stupid shit – Uh. Wound up in the hospital, you remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He says, and Dean gets what he means. He stares at him hard, not sure what to say.

“That was my real rock bottom,” Bobby grimaces, “I remember layin' in the hospital just... angry at the whole world for takin' my Karen away. But I think I was really angry at myself, you know? I was trying to punish myself. But then it occured to me, well, I wouldn't be the man Karen married if I gave up. The world doesn't just stop turnin' when you lose somebody and it's not fair to let it.”

Dean swallows a couple times.

“So I didn't.”

Dean blinks rapidly.

“Don't get me wrong, boy, it was damn near the hardest thing I ever did,” He scratches the back of his neck and looks out the window.

“It sounds it.”

“It was. But I thank God every day that I did it.”

Huh.

A cloud moves and the sun throws light into the kitchen via the small window above the sink.

“Anyway,” Bobby says, slapping the arms of his chair, “Fries?”

“Um. Yeah, fries.”

They make three batches, and by the time they're done Dean's hands have stopped shaking. Bobby half-smiles at him and heaps an extra few onto his plate. They're just as good as he remembers. He almost forgets to worry, until his phone rings.

A call from Adra.

“Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please reach out. You're needed here.
> 
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
>  https://www.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines  
>  https://www.thetrevorproject.org/


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for hospitals, discussions of suicide and death, and recreational drug use (marijuana)

Something is sitting on Castiel's chest, pressing steadily down. It hurts. He tries to cough and it gets stuck halfway up his throat. Merde. There are more machines beeping and whirring around him than there were this morning. Yesterday? Last year? He isn't sure.

Everything hurts.

The first thing he registers when he peels his eyes open is Adra is passed out in the chair, still with her jacket and shoes on. Balthazar left a note on the whiteboard to ring if Castiel needs anything.

From the table, his phone buzzes.

baby?

Hello

oh hey ur awake

That I am.

how ya feelin?

He assesses.

Tired.

i bet

ur mom told me what happened

Ah. I haven't been lucid enough for a debrief yet. Was it bad?

no? not as bad as it coulda been i think

That's a relief. Speaking of my mother:

He snaps a picture.

omfg

Balthazar comes in, checks his vitals, and hands him a cup of cool water, which helps tremendously with his sore throat. Adra stirs but does not wake.

baby?

Yes. Sorry the nurse just came in.

ok take ur time

He whispers questions to Balthazar and learns that his heart almost gave out. The doctors were surprised but the nurses weren't, they think it's a side-effect of the medications he's on, or a combination of side-effects. Still, that he collapsed so quickly after getting out of bed has him labelled a fall risk. Meg wasn't lying when she said he'd be stuck in bed for a week – he has to call a nurse now every time he wants do so much as get up to pee. Great.

Balthazar leaves him with a wink and reminds him to ring; He agrees to.

I'm back. I am chained to my bed until further notice

fun

Thank you, it isn't

lol

hey is

is it stupid to say im kinda scared?

Not at all.

i know im not the one with the problem but

shit man, i

i just

Dean

Don't strain yourself.

I know. I really appreciate you being here.

fuck cas

I'd advise against it, I am hooked to several heart monitors and have been told to avoid activity more strenuous than turning the page in a book

... 

well, shit

Sorry to disappoint

lol

are you

are you like in pain

Can we talk about something else?

oh. sure babe

Thank you.

uhhh wanna hear more about the impala?

He settles back onto his pillows.

Yes, please.

oh man so we changed the spark plugs and i did NOT electrocute myself tyvm

Always good

right? and it turns out the problem was the brakes wearing out so bobby ordered some parts and were gonna replace that over the weekend if they get in by then

I see. Have you done that before?

on baby? oh yeah loads of times

theres some rust on the hood too so im cleaning that up the next time its warm out

ill be sure to send u the glamor shots ;)

Oh

what is it with you and seeing me hot n sweaty anyway

is that a turn on for you

I will neither confirm nor deny

oh man it totally is

fuckin gross lol

maybe ill go for a run before i come see u later

do some jumping jacks yknow somethin to get my heartrate up

...

In the dark, Castiel blushes.

oh man u r into it

god listen to me offering to do exercise

the things i do for love, seriously.

I appreciate it.

i know you do ;)

...

;)

um

Yes?

just... be careful, ok? i dont wanna lose you.

I will be.

He says nothing of the other part.

***

It's morning when he wakes again. His head doesn't hurt any more, which is a small miracle. Adra is gone, but her jacket is hung over the back of the chair. He flicks his overhead light on, a tiny sun in his otherwise dark, medical universe. His journal is sitting on the table, along with a blue pen. He takes a deep breath and cracks it to the latest entry.

_25 May_

_Journal --_

_Jo's recital was wonderful. She is very talented. Unfortunately I had to leave during intermission and I spent the rest of the night on the bathroom floor. Mon dieu, mes poumons d'la merde. I ache._

_We had dinner at Dean's again. He is staying with Bobby now, which is a great improvement. I hope he never has to go back to John's again._

_They want to put me on another antibiotic, a double dose. I hope it works this time and I can be done with it, it messes with my digestion. Eurgh._

_I have... Only been having nutritional shakes the last couple days. I can't bring myself to make anything else._

_Mon dieu. Putain._

_\-- Castiel_

It strikes him that his moment with Meg in front of the elevator could very well have been his last, if things had gone just a little differently. Merde. He takes a deep breath in, hold, out.

 _Dear Journal_ , he writes, then crosses it out.

 _Dear Dean_ , No, he crosses that out, too.

_Dear Anna,_

He hovers over the words, ready to cross them out.

 _Dear Anna,_ he decides, and writes.

_How are you, wherever you are?_

_Alfie used to think when you killed yourself you went to hell, but I can't bear the thought of you down there, so for the sake of this letter you're up in heaven. Well, actually, no, you didn't like that idea much either, did you? Perhaps... Perhaps you're flinging comets around a far-off sun in the hopes of making a new planet or two. I do hope you can take some time out from creating universes to read a letter from your old friend._

_What do you think of my decorations? The flowers are from Dean. It brightens the room, I think._

_Do you remember Meg? She's still my nurse today. She was rough at first, if you remember, but we've gotten used to each other. She says I'm her favorite patient, though I struggle to fathom why._

_The tiger lilies should be blooming now. They're one of my favorites, although growing them from seed has been a task and a half. I'm thinking begonias under the windowsill, next spring._

_I guess I should get to the point. You did say I tend to ramble when I'm nervous. Sorry._

_Anna... I might be seeing you again soon. My heart almost gave out today._

~~_I'm scared._ ~~

_My mother and I were talking about going to Crete together this summer as a graduation gift. She said I could bring Dean on vacation. Anna, I... Being with him is so easy. I'd say it's easy like breathing, but, well, that joke was tired the first time I made it._

_Anna, I want (wanted?) this to be the first of many vacations with him. And now...?_

He lifts up his pen and presses it to his teeth. He takes a deep breath in, hold, and out. Discomfort squirms in his chest and a couple monitors beep anxiously. He puts the pen back down.

_Did it hurt? When you went? I know you said you wanted it, but did you even for a second think about all the things you would never get to do?_

He takes another deep breath, in, hold, out.

_I used to think about it all the time. I could never plan for more than a month or two in advance, because I just didn't know. I would lay awake for hours not doing, thinking about everything I was not doing. Trying to make peace with never getting to do. And now I... I crave it, Anna. I crave a future._

_Merde._

_I do sleep through the night these days, which is no small miracle. Although it may be thanks to the all drugs._

The drugs that almost killed him yesterday. He sighs.

_Is it like sleep? Is it like the moment after sleep but before dreams?_

_I wonder sometimes, if the universe is an enormous garden, and stars are the seeds scattered across it. If you throw them just right are they able grow without the divine gardener's intervention?_

_Is God a lazy gardener? Or is he stuck in bed sick, watching through the window and hoping for rain?_

_I'm sorry, this letter is all over the place. I have a lot of thinking to do._

_I miss you, my friend. Plant a star for me._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

He puts the journal and pen down, holding it against his chest as he breathes in, hold, out, the same way he's done his entire life. That's the problem, of course. He's been preparing for this, this inevitable eventually, in one way or another since he was six months old. He and Anna shared the gift of short-sightedness, of no future, and yet now faced with it, he's completely blindsided. He needs... Mon dieu, mon dieu, he doesn't know what he needs.

He knows what he wants, though.

If he closes his eyes, he can picture his friend sitting at the end of the bed, one knee curled up against her chest. She would be older, a little less gaunt, her hair falling over her shoulders.

“Hey, you,” She would say, resting her chin against her knee.

“Hello,” He would say back.

“I like the flowers,” She would say, pointing.

“Thank you, they were a gift from Dean.”

She'll go over and pluck a couple up, cradling them in her slender hands, “Baby's breath, interesting choice.”

“I'm sure he just asked the florist to give him whatever she thought was best.”

Anna would huff a laugh, “I'm sure. Still, there's a charm to them.” She would tear off a couple and tuck them behind her ear. The others she would put on his pillow.

“Thank you,” He would say with a soft smile.

She would smile back and look away, a little sad, “Any time.” She would go over to the window and peer out, her face reflecting double in the glass, though she wouldn't be able to see it up close, “Y'know, I used to love people-watching.” She would say, “I wasn't allowed outside by myself when I was here, so I would sit by the window for hours just... watching the world go by. There were a lot of old people. I tried to imagine how it would feel to get so old. To just wake up every day and have a new ache or pain. It just made me sad. It sounded horrible, really.”

She would touch the glass with her fingertips and sigh, “But then I'd see one of them with their grandkid, walking side-by-side across that shitty hospital garden. Or they would get caught cheating in a game of cards with their friends and everyone would laugh about it, and I'd think, maybe it's not so bad, y'know? Life. Maybe that was what it was all about.”

She would turn back to him, thoughtful, for once not sad. She would come over to the side of his bed and touch his forehead, leaning over to kiss the spot.

“Anyway, Castiel. I'm sorry you're sick.”

“It's alright,” He would say, “It isn't your fault.”

“No,” She'd say back, “No one signs up to be sick. We just are. But I'm sorry anyways.”

She'd kiss his forehead again, squeeze his knuckles, and flop down into the chair with one leg slung over the armrest. She would tell bad jokes to get him to laugh. She would read to him. Sometimes, they would just sit there in silence, in sickness, together.

He would tell her he loves her. She would smile and tell him she knows. He would drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that she would be there when he woke.

***

Dean and Adra come by later, along with Sam and Jo. Castiel has just finished his dinner – a cup of fruit and as much of the Scandishake as he can handle. He's a little nauseus, admittedly, but he tries his best to ignore it. He sits up when he hears the door open.

“Oh, hello,” He says.

“Hello, my boy,” Adra says, coming over and putting her hand to his cheek.

Dean falters a step before he makes it fully into the room, his gaze sweeping over the machines, the gifts, and Castiel, slowly. “Hey, Cas.” He swallows a couple times.

Cas smiles. “Hello, Dean.”

He shuffles over and Cas reaches out, putting a hand on his cheek. He leans into it. Cas pressed his thumb against his lips and he puckers. He holds his eyes closed for a long moment. His lip quivers.

“Cas,” He chokes out.

“Dean.”

Silence. Monitors beeping.

“Castiel, I --” He falters.

Castiel smiles, pressing his hand in closer, “I know, my love.” Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He leans over and presses their lips together, intentional, not moving for a few seconds.

After not long enough, Dean breaks away. He kisses Castiel's cheek and backs up.

Jo steps up. “Hey, buddy,” says she.

“Hello, Jo.”

She comes close a little easier, with more open curiosity. She touches the bedside table, picks up a book and skims the back, “I think Mom read this one.”

He nods and coughs, “It's not my favorite.”

“No? She loved it, if I remember right.”

“There's --” He coughs, “-- No accounting for taste.”

“No,” Jo says,“Guess not.”

More silence. It hangs heavy between them.

He holds out a hand and squeezes three of Jo's fingers, “Thank you for coming, my friend.”

Her lip shakes, “Um. 'Course, Novak.”

He smiles. She steps away.

Sam is half-hidden behind his brother, stealing glances at Castiel like looking too long might hurt him somehow.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam startles, but he smiles, relieved, “Um. Hi, Castiel.”

Castiel pats the spot next to him. Jo swings the table out of the way and Sam goes over, sitting down on the bed gingerly.

“What would you like for Christmas, little boy?” He asks, very seriously.

Sam bursts into laughter, and for a moment the tension in his mouth disappears.

“Uh, my friend to get better?”

Castiel nods, “Well, if you're a good boy and eat all your vegetables, Santa will see what he can do.”

Sam smiles softly and leans against Castiel, warm. They sit like that for a while, Sam sniffling and doing a valiant job trying to hide it. When he gets up, he takes half a step away, then spins back and presses a kiss to Castiel's temple, hard.

“Love you,” He whispers, quiet enough that only Castiel hears him.

“Love you too, Sam.”

Castiel hugs him and he lets him go. He faces the group, “I'm glad you all could make it.”

Jo smiles, a little sad. “Of course. Ash sends his love and says he's sorry he couldn't come.” Ash caught a bad cold, and didn't want to risk infecting Castiel, so he stayed home.

“Although, I hear that's not all he sends.” Dean grins, and Jo nudges him.

Sam furrows his brow, “What?”

He winces, “Uhh, nothing.”

Sam squints like he knows he's lying, but doesn't know enough to call him out on it.

“Sam,” Adra says, putting her large purse down on the chair and taking out her wallet, “Why don't I show you around? I can get you something from the gift shop.”

He grumbles a little but goes, and Adra gives Castiel a pointed look on her way out, closing the door behind her.

When they're gone, Cas points to her purse, “In there, Ash's gift.”

Jo chuckles and digs around before pulling out an aluminum sheet not unlike the medication Castiel has to pop out for his acid reflux, “Oh, sweet. Do you know what strain these are?”

Castiel shrugs, “She didn't say.”

Jo shakes her head, “Whatever. Your mom is the coolest, you know that, right?”

He smiles. He does know.

They each take one edible and wash it down with Castiel's water. It's a little bitter, pungeant in a way that clings to this teeth. While they wait for it to take effect, Dean plops down in the chair and Jo perches on the armrest.

“So, your lungs are fucked, huh?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes.” He explains what the doctor's told him. He coughs and spits a wad into a napkin. Jo and Dean make identical grossed-out faces and he huffs a laugh.

“So I take it you're not gonna make it to graduation?”

Castiel laughs and coughs a big wad up, “No, I won't be attending.”

They chat about nothing; Jo gives a play-by-play of the game that was on the other night, and while she's talking, Castiel's vision doesn't tunnel exactly, but he starts to feel like he's looking at everything from far away, even his own body. His friends are starting to feel the same, judging by Jo's wide grin and the way Dean is studying the back of his hand with intensity.

Time crawls at a glacial pace one moment and then ten years happen at once the next. Jo tries to finish her story and it takes her several seconds to string a sentence together, so eventually, she just gives up. Dean laughs anyway, loud, and when he tries to tell them what's so funny, he starts laughing again. This happens twice in a row before he shakes his head and tells him to forget it. Castiel for his part feels like he's underwater. If he shifts, the water ripples.

At one point, Jo starts taking deep, audible breaths in and forgetting to let it out.

“Shit,” She says, her eyes bugging, “ I can't breathe. Can you guys breathe?”

“No,” Castiel answers automatically, “But, um... What... You... ” He goes quiet, completely forgetting what the end of his sentence was going to be, “Um. Sorry. I'm... What?”

“Jo,” Dean says, putting a hand on her leg, “Breathe. In'n'out, that'sa girl.”

Castiel finds himself doing the same and for a moment they all breathe together.

She gets herself under control a few minutes or centuries or miliseconds later.

After that, Dean comes over to the side of the bed and looks at Castiel, his gaze wavering as thoughts fire behind his eyes.

“Dean,” Castiel says, because it's the only thing to say. In slow motion, Dean puts a hand out and hovers it above Castiel's chest. Cas reaches up and finishes the job so Dean's hand is pressed against his heart. He musters up the control to breathe in, hold, out, and Dean blinks rapidly a few times.

“Rocketman.”

“Idiot.”

“Uhh, you guys know I'm still here, right?” Jo asks from a universe away.

Castiel closes his eyes, “Sorry.”

“Eh, it's fine. I'm gonna... use your bathroom.”

She disappears and then he is left alone in the universe with Dean.

“Dean,” He says, because that's all there is. Him and Dean and the hospital bed.

“Castiel.”

His heart thunders under his ribs, in between his decrepit lungs. He breathes in, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (SPOILER WARNING)
> 
> So... Fair warning: the next chapter is gonna be sad. Like, earning-the-MCD-warning sad. If that's not your vibe, you're welcome to stop here and imagine Castiel's miraculous recovery and long, happy life. Thank you for coming on this journey with me!
> 
> But the rest of you -- buckle up! :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: main character death

Dean chews his bottom lip, pocketing his phone. It's 8:54 AM. Nothing from Adra or Cas yet. He tries to convince himself to be relieved. No news/good news and all that, but his stomach apparently didn't get the memo and has been tying itself into a more and more complicated knot for the last hour. He leans over the counter like Jo's done a million times and his vertebrae pop-pop back into place. It's still sore, but falling asleep hunched over a hospital bed will do that to ya.

“Anything?” Jo asks, pulling a piece of hair from her ponytail and twirling it around her finger.

Dean sighs, “Not yet.”

As much time as Dean has been spending at the hospital lately, Adra's been spending double. She shows up first thing and sits by Castiel's bedside. Sometimes they go on wheelchair walks down the corridor, sometimes not. She stays with him until she leaves for work that night. Sometimes she takes the work to the hospital with her and does it in the waiting room. Dean isn't sure if she's been home to shower more than once in the last two weeks. He can't say he blames her.

“Maybe she passed out in the waiting room chair,” He wagers.

“Probably. I would if I were her.”

He swallows and tries to get back to work. The Roadhouse is all but empty, thank God, so he wipes down the same table over and over again, checking his phone every few minutes.

“Kid, if you wanna get going, you can. You don't have to work today,” Ellen says, giving him her best worried-mom eyes.

He shakes his head. “What else am I gonna do? Sit at home and worry?”

Ellen looks at him a moment and shrugs, “Well, if that's how you wanna spend your summer break I guess I can't stop you.”

Right, it's summer now. He's officially a high school graduate. Graduation itself was a small affair: instead of attending a dumb ceremony, the gang spent the afternoon in the hospital. They brought Castiel a cake, a proper one using an old recipe of Bobby's, and all the nurses on the floor came in and celebrated with them. They took pictures with his diploma, which he propped up on the side table.

That was a couple days ago; It already feels like a lifetime.

At 9:15, Dean is in the middle of washing an already spotless dish when the Roadhouse wall phone rings. He jumps. When Jo answers, her face falls.

“Okay. Okay. Shit. Alright, we're on our way.”

He throws his apron off. “Is he--?”

“It's not looking good. He stopped breathing for a bit this morning. They got him back, but, um, we need to go, now.”

Fuck.

Ellen, who had overheard, practically pushes them out the door. She flips the sign to Closed and follows them out.

He guns it. His hands shake while parking the car and Ellen tells them to just get inside, she'll worry about the parking tickets. He's never loved her more than in that moment.

They make it to Talbot's Landing seventeen minutes after Adra's call. They burst in and Adra is there, clutching her son's hand. Castiel's chests rises and falls, even, mechanical. He has a breathing tube in, and a nurse is writing some notes on the whiteboard behind him. He cracks his eyes open when he hears them come in. His heart monitor picks up a little when his gaze lands on Dean.

Fuck. He reaches a hand out, and it falls quickly back on the bed. Dean rushes over. Adra moves out of the way, but doesn't go far.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. His voice is small and hoarse, a million miles away. He grabs his hand and squeezes. He's cold, cold, cold. Dean's heart leaps to his throat.

“Hey, Castiel.”

He twitches a smile, “My love.”

He puts his hands on either side of Cas' face and stares hard at his cool blue eyes. Castiel. Castiel. Castiel.

Cas clears his throat and it dissolves into a deep, hacking cough. The monitors beside him jerk and beep. His hand twitches. Dean closes his eyes and the rest of the world disappears until it's just him, and Castiel, and the point of contact between them.

“Come here,” Castiel whispers. Dean leans closer. Cas takes a labored breath and his voice comes out just above a whisper, “Dean. You... Putain. I never thought I would get anything that made me crave life... as much as you have. I had my whole... Nothing future planned out, and you...” He takes more labored breaths between words, “You came along and tore up that ending... I guess that's the thing, though. About life. You --” He coughs, “You changed me, Dean, and I love you.”

Dean feels him smile. Cas coughs against Dean's hands. Together, they take a breath in, hold, out.

“Kiss me,” Castiel says, barely a whisper. Dean follows his orders, pressing their mouths together, damp and warm and gentle. He kisses into Castiel and Castiel kisses back, kisses back, kisses back. Until his kisses become smaller, lighter, and then he falls away.

He grows heavy in Dean's hands.

The world goes quiet. Dean is pulled backwards and pressed against something warm. Arms come around him. Someone is screaming; maybe it's a machine, maybe it's Adra, maybe it's him.

It's 9:34 AM.

***

At 10:03 that morning, Dean slumps in a waiting room chair, a cup of water growing warm in his hand. Adra is beside him, pulled tight into herself, pale, her eyes empty. He holds a hand out to her and she looks at it a moment, as if she's not sure what it's there for. He takes it back. Electricity buzzes. Sniffling can be heard; it might be Sam in the corner, but Dean isn't sure. He doesn't bother to check. Everything is heavy. Despite the sun pouring in through the windows, all the color has drained from the room.

At 10:06, the waiting room door opens with automated slowness and Bobby rolls in, hatless, a blanket thrown over his lap.

“Dad,” Dean breathes.

“I'm here, boy. I'm here.”

Dean closes his eyes, and lets Bobby take his hand, lets him carry a little bit of the weight. He takes a deep breath in, hold, out.

At 11:00, they make their way down to the cafeteria because Bobby insists they need to eat something, damn it. Dean gets exactly that: something, shaped sort of like a bacon cheeseburger. He doesn't taste it before swallowing. Bobby watches him while picking at his own soggy french fries. Sam downs chocolate milk after chocolate milk. They don't talk about anything.

Sam sniffles a lot through the meal and afterwards Bobby sends him back up to the waiting room.

“I think I need to uh, stretch my legs for a bit,” Dean says once Sam leaves, looking off into middle distance.

“Hey, me too,” Bobby says.

Dean snorts.

His whole body is heavy as they trudge through the hospital, a couple floors below Talbot's Landing. Each floor has it's own thing, their way of brightening up the place: music, decorations, or even just nurses in brightly-colored scrubs. They come across a few patients, but don't stay to chat. The nurses look at them curiously as they wheel past, wondering which one of them is the patient. Neither of them, Dean thinks bitterly. The patient is –

Bobby checks a map and there's a walking path outside the door at the end of the hall. Fresh air'll do them good, he says.

Near the exit, they pass a room with big windows and Dean stops. There is a frost filter over the windows, but one can still make out the bright colors and odd shapes inside. A sign on the door tells them the new kid's area is located on the other side of the building.

He jiggles the handle and the door opens unencumbered.

“The hell are you doing?” Bobby whispers. Dean doesn't hear him, just ducks inside.

He's right about the colors, red-blue-green teddy bears dance around on the walls, except for the spot where a TV used to be. The TV is long gone but the wires it connected to are still hooked into the wall. The furniture is stacked into a corner. If he squints he can imagine how it was back in the day: rows of art supplies in color-coded drawers, a tiny table covered in crayon marks, and two enormous ketchup and mustard beanbag chairs sitting side-by-side in the middle of the chaos.

“He was here,” Dean says, certain as anything, “This is where he met her.”

He takes a step further into the room and breathes in sawdust and darkness, trying to saver the knowledge that Castiel had been here. He can almost see them, a little lost boy and little lost girl talking together, totally unaware of what was to come.

“Kid,” Bobby says softly. Dean turns to him with a heavy chest, “C'mon, let's get outside.”

He lingers for a moment, breathing the recycled air. He goes eventually, his hand lingering on the doorframe on the way out.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW funerals, grief, and discussions of death

The funeral home is a nondescript white building with a ramp leading up to the front door and two wings on either side. Adra clutches Dean's arm, not unlike the way Castiel used to. Her hair is washed and put up, and she's left a couple curls to corkscrew down either side of her face. Her eyes are already puffy and red with crying.

He's jealous, though he won't admit it. He hasn't cried. Not when Dr. Marilyn came in to offer their condolences, not during all the meetings with Pastor Jim, not in digging through boxes and boxes of baby photos. Not once. It sucks.

An older gentleman greets them at the door with a polite but sorry smile.

“Is this the Novak family?” He asks, nodding to each of them.

“Yes,” Adra says, taking a steadying breath, “I'm his mother.”

“I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

He shows them into the parlor. The left side of the building has bathroom and a small back room with a long table where the family can come and get away for a while. It has a big oak table in the middle. The other side of the building is blocked off by a pair of French doors. An attendant opens them. Adra hesitates on Dean's arm before stepping through.

This room is larger, with little end tables on either side stacked with tissue boxes and little water bottles. There are rows of chairs, and beside each are a couple boards full of photos. He and Adra had spent hours sifting through them picking out the good ones. At the front of the room are bushels of roses framing a long wooden box.

“I'll give you two some time,” The man says, and Dean watches him disappear, wishing he could follow him out.

Adra unhooks their arms and makes her way to the front of the room. Dean makes a beeline for the photo boards. The first one is Castiel's early life. True baby photos, grainy: him and Adra in the hospital, Adra looking still like a child herself. Even as a baby, Castiel had her same straight nose and wild, dark hair. There's one from a couple years later, of Castiel sitting on a large pumpkin, frowning very seriously at the camera. Some mall photography photos. Adra and toddler Castiel at her college graduation, both beaming. Another one of Castiel in her graduation cap. Down at the bottom are the photos from Castiel's Catacombs of him and Gabe, frozen permanently in a laugh, permanently crushed together in the shared office chair.

Dean looks up to the front of the room. Adra is kneeled in front of the casket, a moment of silent contemplation or perhaps prayer. He tries to move forward but his legs won't budge. He takes a deep breath.

The next photo board is more the Castiel Dean recognizes. Castiel, pimple faced, carrying a plant pot bigger than his head in each arm, spilling dirt behind him. Castiel from behind, looking out at the Parthenon miles away, an ancient relic in the middle of a modern city. Castiel and Anna standing together like awkward prom dates, Castiel in his signature trenchcoat and Anna in a long black coat of her own. A photo from moments later, where Castiel tries to give Anna bunny ears and her shoving him away, laughing. Him chasing her across the garden, rabbit ears stretched out in front of him, her long red hair whipping behind. 

There's a group photo with Missouri on one side surrounded by a gaggle of teenagers. Castiel has his arm around Alfie, a tall boy in a red bandana, both flushed. At the bottom of this board are ones of Castiel and Dean. A still from the video of the tree catching on fire, while Sam sprays the flames with the fire extinguisher and Dean and Castiel look on, dumbfounded. One from right before they got together, sitting on Ash's basement couch, Dean absolutely howling with laughter, and Castiel looking at him like flowers grow from the sound of his voice, like he already loved him. The last one is a selfie from Dean's phone, a little blurry. Cas is kissing his cheek and Dean is smiling. They're both flushed and a little sweaty and there's nothing but love in Dean's eyes.

Dean looks up to the front of the room again. Adra has pulled off to the side, grabbing tissues out of one of the many boxes. This leaves the path to the front open wide for Dean.

His legs work now.

It's disconcerting. First, there's a long wooden box surrounded by flowers. Then, there's Castiel, lying still. He's got rosy cheeks and his face is calm, not pinched tight with pain. His tie is flipped the wrong way around, and Dean goes to flip it back around. It's disconcerting the way he could be sleeping. But...

“He snores.” When Castiel sleeps, he snores, loud and constant like a car engine. Now he doesn't. Now he isn't.

Oh, fuck. It hits Dean like a lightning bolt in a summer storm: Everything that made Castiel _Castiel_ is gone. His stiff, perfect posture. The way he tilts his head when he's confused. His righteous, powerful anger. It's gone. It's all gone. Castiel is dead.

Dean crumples under his own weight, covering his face with his hands. Fuck. Castiel is dead. He's dead. That's it.

God damn it, it's not fair.

Adra rushes over and wraps an arm around him, handing him a tiny water bottle. She rubs circles into his shoulder. Still, somehow, he has no tears.

“He was... Fuck, Adra, he was my best friend.”

She presses her cheek to the top of his head, “I know, αγόρι μου, I know. You were his, too.”

***

People filter in about an hour later. Sam and Bobby come by, Sam with his hair pulled back into a teeny ponytail and Bobby in a wide, dark Stetson. They say their condolences and Bobby leaves a hand on the side of the casket for a long while. Dean thinks he hears him call Cas an idjit, but he can't be sure.

Others come by. A handful of nurses and doctors, including Meg, who stands and stares into the casket while blinking back tears. Some of their classmates show, and it's then Dean starts to get annoyed. They barely knew him. They never saw him first thing in the morning, his hair mussed and his breath shitty. They never watched him going through his medications with precise motions. They never made him laugh so hard he had a coughing fit. How is it fair that Dorothy can clutch the edge of the casket and cry hot, angry tears for a man she spoke to maybe twice in her entire life, and Dean. Fucking. Can't?

He sighs. What-fucking-ever.

Ash arrives a little later and stands at the back of the room, staring up ahead.

“Hey, man,” Dean says, perversely grateful for the distraction. He clears his throat and holds out a box of tissues. Ash's hair is pulled into a little braid at the nape of his neck.

“Hey,” Ash manages, his voice cracking. Damn it, him too?

Dean swallows the pain and says, “What a venue, huh? At least they could serve beer instead of these shitty half-water bottles.”

“Right?” Ash says, cracking a smile, “It's like, two drinks and you're done.”

He shakes his head, “Pitiful.”

“True that.”

He swallows, “Do you uh, do you want someone to come with you?”

Ash looks down. He pulls at the lapels of his jacket, which is a size too big, “Nah. Nah, I just gotta, y'know, decide to be brave.”

He smiles and steps back, “Alright, man. I'll be here if you need me.”

He nods and marches forward. About halfway there, he stops and turns around.

“Hey buddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I uh, I think I could use a friend, actually.”

Dean huffs a laugh and puts the tissue box down on a table, “Sure thing, man.” They walk up to the casket together.

***

After a while, Dean gets tired of peopling and goes to hide out in the other wing. Sam is already there, crunching on some Cheez-its and shooting the shit with Jo while she rubs his shoulders. They both straighten up when he comes in. He pulls off his tie and throws it on the table, where it flops like a dead snake.

“Fuck,” He says, throwing himself into a chair, “Who knew funerals would be this fucking exhausting?”

“I know, right?” Jo says. She digs a thumb into a sensitive spot on Sam's neck and he yelps.

“Geez, are you trying to take my head off?”

“No, but if you don't stop squirming I might.”

Sam grits his teeth and lets her work her magic.

Dean chugs three mini water bottles and then off goes to pee. The bathroom is quiet, cut off from outside sound. There's a basket of dried flowers on the sink. Rose petals, maybe, and some prickler seeds. It smells nice, but strong.

The weeping cherry should be ready to bloom any day now, which means Dean needs prepare to sweep up the zillion pink petals it's going to toss across the yard. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and it hits him: he's going to do it alone. There will be no Castiel to sit on the edge of the fountain and egg him on. No Castiel to tell him the story of how he and Anna planted it the week before she left, and how it fell over three times that August before he finally tied it to a stake to keep it upright. No Castiel to thank him with kisses for a job well done.

He looks down into the sink, where soap bubbles have begun to gather in the drain, and weeps.

***

His eyes are puffy when he goes back to the viewing room to stand between Adra and the casket. She flashes a sad smile and squeezes his hand.

After a few minutes something occurs to him. He leans over and asks, “What's with all the roses?”

She huffs a laugh, “Do you recognize them? They're from the garden.”

He squints. Yeah, he can kind of see them clinging to the trellis behind the vegetables. “Oh yeah, sure.”

“There are sixty-five. It's a little joke, actually; When he was a kid, he couldn't pronounce 'cystic fibrosis', so the doctor had him practice by saying 'sixty-five roses', and, well, he always thought it would be funny to have – to have at his funeral.”

Dean huffs a laugh, peering into the casket at the too-still-to-be-sleeping boy. Even in death, Castiel has managed to surprise him. 65 roses, huh? Imagine that.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for funerals, underage alcohol use, and grief

Castiel's funeral is the following Saturday. There's a church service, and then the priest invites up anyone who would like to say a few words. Sam goes first and reads a poem by Rupert Brook – The Fish, a favorite of Castiel's. Dean slings an arm around his brother when he comes back.

Jo hesitates going up, a wrinkled piece of looseleaf in her hands, but Charlie nudges her on.

It's a sunny day, and the church's big open windows spill stained-glass colors across the floor. Jo's hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but she goes to tuck it behind her ear anyway. From the pews, Dean gives her a thumbs up. She grimacesmiles back.

“Novak was... Unique, to say the least,” Jo starts, and chuckles ripple through the crowd, “Let's face it, the guy was weird. He liked to order all the desserts from a restaurant and try them one at a time. He seriously rated them for things like moistness and mouthfeel. I dunno what he was on, but damn, I sure would've liked some of it.”

“Pulmozyme,” One of the nurses in the crowd shouts out. Jo snorts a laugh.

“Pulmozyme then. Know where I can get any?”

Another ripple of laughter through the church.

She pauses, looking down at the podium. She is quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again her voice cracks. “Um. Novak – Castiel. Castiel was...A great guy. He was... He became a brother to me. It took us what, two weeks to invite him to our monthly family dinners? Like he belonged there.

“I dunno. I – he was great. He was one of my best friends.”

Tears are dripping down her face now. She takes a minute to collect herself, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I... I'll miss him, you know?”

“Amen,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Everyone claps politely and Jo rushes back to her seat. Ellen wraps her arms around her, holding her close.

The priest asks if anyone else would like to say a few words. Dean didn't have breakfast this morning – couldn't – but he still feels like everything is about to come up as he stares at the podium.

Now or never.

He makes an aborted step forward. The priest locks eyes with him and nods.

“C'mon up, son.”

In his pocket is a folded up piece of printer paper; He had jolted awake in the middle of the night and vomited up his speech onto his keyboard, knowing if he didn't get it out it then would be lost forever. He couldn't do that to Castiel. He had to say something.

The podium is miles away, but somehow he gets to it in the space of a few seconds. His hands shake as he takes out the paper.

“Um, morning, everyone,” He says. His shirt collar is too tight around his throat, the lights too bright. He soldiers on, “Um, the name's Dean. Uh, I was Castiel's boyfriend, for those who don't know. Um.” He catches Sam's eye in the crowd, who nods at him encouragingly. “I think Jo said it best that Castiel was weird, but we loved him anyway. I guess I'm weird, too. Maybe that's why we got along so well. We were planning on going to a sci-fi convention this summer, actually, but, well, I guess we didn't get around to it, huh? Um. Cas... Um. Geez, this is hard. He might've had shit lungs, but he had a strong backbone, y'know? He just... cared about everyone and wanted to see everyone treated fair. He was stubborn.”

He glances at the casket, which has been closed and decorated with a bunch of different flowers. If he had more time he could probably name them all.

“Y'know, he really was stubborn. We had this, uh, running joke that I was gonna make him have a cheese dog one day. But, man, he really would rather die first, huh?” He shakes his head, “That son of a bitch.” He takes a deep breath, “I mean, fuck, Cas was somethin' special, to a lot of us. Um. Especially to me.” His throat gets tight and small, like a note held too long on a string. He looks over at the casket one more time and whispers, too quiet for anyone else to hear, “I'll miss you forever, Rocketman.”

He steps down from the podium and makes a beeline to Adra, who puts a warm hand on his cheek.

“That was wonderful, αγόρι μου. He would have loved that.”

“Thanks, Ma. Thank you.”

A few other people go up, including a handful of nurses who tell funny stories about Castiel's hospital stays. Apparently there was a betting pool for a nurse who could beat him in chess, which no one had collected in years. That gets a laugh.

Adra doesn't go up, but Dean doesn't blame her.

After the service, they leave to go to the gravesite. Dean hangs back as everyone goes ahead – waiting for Castiel to get up his strength so they can go together – before he remembers. Shit. Adra glances back and sees him waiting, and a sad, knowing look crosses her face. She holds out her arm.

The grave is small, out of the way in a back corner beside an old oak tree. A few more people say a few more words, and then that's it. It's over. Dean wants to stay to watch them lower the casket, but one of the funeral home workers gives him a weird look, so he leaves.

***

After-funeral social conventions are fucking weird, Dean thinks while staring down into a plastic cup of watery cranberry juice. It's like, you die, and everyone you've ever met gathers in your living room to get served pigs in a blanket and stale cheese. Like, what the actual fuck?

He's in the middle of a one-sided conversation with a woman about her dog that's older than God when he makes some excuse and wanders into the kitchen, where Jo is stacking desserts on top of one another.

“He would hate all of this crap. Too processed,” She remarks, making a face at her slice of cheesecake before shoving it in her mouth in one bite.

“I know, man. The brownies are good though.”

“They are.” She swallows and looks at him with a glint in her eyes, “Hey, you wanna get outta here?”

“Fuck yes, please.”

He finds Sam over in the corner and the three of them head out. Dean pulls into the Singer's Auto Salvage and parks. It's warm enough that he doesn't need to keep the engine on, he just rolls down the window and lets the summer heat climb in. Jo snuck a bottle of wine into her purse and she pulls it out. It's not a twist-off, so they spend a few minutes jamming it with their car keys before Sam rolls his eyes and goes back into the house for a corkscrew.

When they get it open, Jo silently passes it over and Dean takes a long drink. It's fruity and bitter and the taste sticks to the top of his mouth. Jo follows, and Sam watches with his eyebrows raised. He looks to Dean and he shrugs. It's a funeral, why not?

It isn't long before a loose heaviness settles into Dean's stomach. He's gonna have a headache later, he can already tell.

“Stupid son of a bitch,” He mutters.

“Yeah?” Jo asks, taking the bottle back from Sam. They pass it between them a few more times.

“Nothin'. I just... I wish Castiel were here.”

“Yeah, man. Me, too.”

It's too soon when they finish the bottle.

“Castiel was great,” Sam mutters, hiccuping between words, “He was a great fuckin' guy. Best guy I know.”

“Right?”

“Do you think he's in heaven now?”

Dean snorts, “I dunno, man. I don't believe in heaven.”

“Oh.” He shuffles so he's sitting cross-legged, leaning up to the front seat. “What do you believe then?”

“I don't know.” He sighs. His eyes sting as he talks, “I think if God is up there, or if he was, he's long gone. Why would he care about us and our stupid human problems?”

“I dunno,” Sam shakes his head, “I think there's meaning behind it all.”

Jo leans her head back on the window and looks up at the ceiling, or perhaps through it. “I think grief is just the price you pay for love, yanno?” She says after a few moments.

Dean snorts. “Yeah? How's that fair?”

She shrugs, “S'not.”

They lapse into silence. After a while, Sam complains of a stomachache and he ducks off into the house. Jo follows him, leaving Dean in the car alone.

“Stupid son of a bitch,” He whispers. He opens the door and stumbles out, taking the empty wine bottle with him. He stares at it before throwing it to the ground, where it shatters. “You stupid son of a bitch!” He huffs, “People keep asking me what I want. Where am I going to college, what do I wanna do with my life. Man, the truth is, I just want you, Castiel, fuck the rest. I wanted you the rest of my damn life.”

A few feet away a crowbar rests on the ground. He picks it up and holds it in both hands. The hood of the Impala is smooth, glittering in the late afternoon light. He lifts his arms up and swings down, swings down, swings down.

“Damn it, Cas. I loved you, you know that?” He hits the tire, “I really fucking did!” He gets the hood again. “You – you bastard! You son of a bitch!”

He swings towards the windshield. The shattering glass sounds nothing like relief.


	24. Chapter 24

Dean comes back to life in inches. He has good days: he eats breakfast, he goes to Adra's to help pack up Castiel's things, he falls asleep at a normal time. He has bad days: he collapses on the couch in the morning and doesn't get up until dinner, he catches a whiff of cinnamon in the spice cabinet and has to run into the other room, he sees a package of cheese dogs at the grocery store and breaks down right there in the meat aisle. He doesn't even care enough to be embarrassed about it. Good grief.

It's hard. But by inches, it gets easier.

Eventually Bobby gets tired of him feeling sorry for himself and smacks his knee with the newspaper.

“Go take a shower,” He says, “You stink.”

Dean huffs and rolls over. Annoyed, his dad goes for a jab of a single, stiff pointer finger right between Dean's ribs. He yelps and jumps up.

“Jesus Christ, Bobby!”

“Oh good, you're up. Now go shower.”

With a huff, he does. He hates to admit it, but he feels more human afterwards. All the grime of the last week or two finally washed off him. As he's getting dressed, he stares at Castiel's trenchcoat folded up on the toilet seat. It was a size or two too big for Castiel, hanging off him like it was trying to escape. Despite being shorter than him, the coat Dean fits perfect, if a little long.

He studies himself in the mirror. He looks exhausted, dark circles creasing under his eyes. His hair is a blazing red, courtesy of Jo and the Harvelle's kitchen sink a few days back. She says the color doesn't suit him, but Dean likes it. He likes that he can draw a line between him before Castiel and him after. To him it says, hello world, the love of my life is dead.

He takes a deep breath in, hold, out, and goes downstairs.

“He lives!” Bobby jokes when he comes into the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

“Any time, kid. What are you up to today?” He sips his coffee and hands Dean a mug, which he takes gratefully.

“Um.” He doesn't know how to tell Bobby he had no plans, that he was going to hang out on the couch until he became one with it. But as he's thinking of what to say, an idea strikes, “Um. I'm gonna go see Adra and uh, check on the garden.” It's been a few days, anyway.

His dad nods, satisfied.

Dean takes a big gulp of coffee and it burns the roof of his mouth. “Hey, uh, Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Does it... Will it always hurt like this?”

Bobby puts his mug down and runs his hands over his jeans. He looks Dean up and down and says, “No, not forever. But, boy? I'm here for you while it does.”

“Oh. Thanks, Dad.” He says.

“Any time.”

Dean nods awkwardly at his father and takes his coffee out to the back porch.

Later, he does see Adra as promised. She's in a sweatshirt and ratty jeans, which is her usual attire these days. Her hair is washed though, so maybe she's coming back to life in inches, too. He gives her a hug with one arm, the other tucked behind his back.

“What do you have there?” She asks, pointing with two fingers.

He grins and hauls the carriage over to the kitchen table, moving a few books aside. The thing inside shifts and lets out a low growl. He sneezes.

“So, uh, a few months ago, Sam took in a stray cat,” He starts, unlatching the clasp of the carrier, “He's as nice as anything, but Bobby's house is hardly wheelchair-safe, much less cat-safe, so uh...” He puts his fingers out and Gabriel comes out, sniffing cautiously. He meows when he sees Adra. “He's yours if you'll take him.”

Adra furrows her brow and puts out two fingers, cautiously. Gabriel sniffs them and backs back into the carrier.

“Um,” She says, tilting her head to peer into the cage, “Yes. Yes, I'll take him. Thank you, Dean.”

She smiles at him and he can't help but hug her. She is lanky, and she smells of warm cinnamon. He begins to shake a little, his eyes watering. She holds him tight, not letting go.

He stays for tea, and he helps her sort through the basket of medicine in the cabinet and they wind up throwing out most of it.

“I'm thinking of going back to school,” She says, returning the now-empty basket to the shelf.

“Oh?”

“Yes. For history. I'm sure you can tell it's a passion of mine.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Dean says. He licks his lips. It's a cool summer day out, and the window is open, letting a breeze and the gentle floral scents of the garden waft in. “I've been thinking about that, too, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Um, going to school I mean. Fire safety. So I could be um, a fireman?”

Adra's smile is as bright as the sun, “Oh, Dean, that would be wonderful. You would be really great at that.”

“You think so?”

She reaches over and touches his cheek, “I know so.”

He brings in the rest of Gabriel's supplies, including all the stupid little toys Sam bought with his allowance money. Of course, Gabriel would rather play with the strings on the end of Adra's sweatshirt, but then, that's just how cats are.

“I have a tattoo appointment next month,” He says, following Adra around the garden. The tiger lilies are past bloom, collecting in shriveled husks at their own feet. He and Adra are talking of replacing them with foxglove when the time comes.

“Oh?” Adra touches her own wrist, where "quia tu es mecum" is tattooed.

“Yeah uh, on my back. It would be a pair of wings, but like, made out of flowers? For, um, for Castiel.”

“Oh. That would be beautiful, Dean.” She says, blinking back tears.

He smiles, “I know, right?”

In the coming weeks, they will make room for the summer vegetables, sweep up the petals from the weeping cherry, and sort through all the tools in the shed. Adra will have a memorial stone made for the entranceway, with Castiel's name, birth and death days, and a quote about the Garden of Eden. It will sit next to the one inscribed _Anna Julianne Milton_. A journalist will come by and take photos of the garden for a magazine. Dean and Adra will stand together by the fountain and try not to cry.

***

One Saturday, Dean is sitting at the kitchen table reading over a life insurance letter when Adra pushes a familiar cardboard box across to him.

“H-- his Catacombs?” He asks, voice catching in his throat.

“Yes,” She says, “I'm sorry it took me so long. There was something he wanted you to have and it completely slipped my mind.”

He shrugs, forgiving. He would've forgotten, too. That doesn't stop his hands from shaking as he lifts the lid, though. On top of all the familiar photographs and memorabilia is a leather journal, the same one Dean gave Castiel for Christmas all those months ago. On top is a note. _To Dean._

_My love_ , it reads, in Castiel's all-caps handwriting.

_It didn't take me long after receiving this gift to know exactly what I wanted to do with it._

_I used to feel like the future could be stolen from me at any moment, and the present was so tenuous itself that it was not worth thinking about. But becoming friends with you changed that. I wanted to keep a record of everything we did together. Even if at the time, I did not know where it would lead, I still felt like it was worth preserving._

_I learned that you do not avoid planting a garden because one day the flowers will wilt. You plant it anyway and enjoy the flowers while they are here. Dean Winchester, my dear, dear idiot, you helped me live in full bloom._

_Thank you._

_Yours, with love,_

_Castiel Michael Novak_

Dean flips open the cover. Paper-clipped to the front is a picture of the two of them laughing together. Beneath it:

_Castiel was here._

Dean isn't sure if what comes out is a laugh or a sob. He touches the writing tenderly. Castiel was here. Castiel was here.

Castiel was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for coming on this journey with me! This fic has been a lot of fun to write and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have! Leave a comment, or come say hi on tumblr - veggiesforpresident
> 
> Remember you are loved dearly, personally, and in ways you can't even imagine. <3!


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